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Chapter Three

Claire got up early in the morning so she could shower and let her hair dry. She didn't blow dry it anymore, forever anxious about protecting her hair. Gently, she thread her fingers through the tresses, proud that it had finally thickened.

She sprayed on a heat-protectant and very very carefully curled it, until it bounced around her head in loose waves. She smoothed down any wrinkles in her dress, put on her heels, and donned her coat. It was below freezing today, but this dress was the nicest thing she had.

Her dad was making scrambled eggs and bacon in the kitchen, but she wasn't hungry. Her mom was still getting ready, but Bailey and Lincoln were at the table. Claire grabbed a plate, put a few spoonfuls of egg onto her plate and poured a glass of milk. She took her supplements and sipped at the milk, but the eggs tasted like sand in her mouth.

Her mom sat down at the table. She looked pale, but her eyes were no longer red-rimmed. She filled up her plate and ate, but Claire noticed she ate slower than usual. Mourning could do that to a person. Claire finished her eggs and washed her and her sibling's plates.

Holiday music played on the radio as they drove to church, but her dad turned it off. Only her family was there so far this morning. There was her three great-uncles, two great-aunts, and their spouses. Her mother's sisters and brothers, their spouses, and their children. It was a long line.

Claire visited with her family before excusing herself and taking up a place in life next to her siblings. She never liked talking about how the firm was doing in Arizona. She was a business lawyer, and nobody really knew what they did, so talking about it was just . . . exhausting. Besides, people would be arriving for the wake soon.

Claire fidgeted, trying to rub the goosebumps away. She had shaved just this morning, but already she could feel the prickling hairs. She shivered again but grit her teeth and waited.

Her grandpa's friends arrived first. They had played cards with him at the senior center, played with him at the Polka Festival, or had gone fishing with him. They had lived next door, had volunteered with him, or had worked with him at the foundry. It was a small town, and Russell had always been adamant about getting out. She made small talk with all of them, thanking them for their sympathy. Some recognized her, some didn't. She recognized some and had never seen others once.

"Hey, short stuff," that familiar voice said.

Claire felt every muscle in her body lock up at that voice, but she set her spine and kept the smile on her face as she talked with one of her grandpa's old co-workers. The only thing between her and Greg were Bailey and Lincoln. She watched as Greg wrapped up Bailey into a hug. Bailey was openly crying now. Claire wanted to go to her, but she couldn't. Greg was already there.

He let Bailey go and then turned to Lincoln. Claire watched as they shook hands and then hugged each other. Greg gave Lincoln a watery smile before finally turning to her. He looked guarded, haunted. He was dressed in a dark gray suit with a matching tie. It was the most dressed up she'd seen him since their senior prom. She wouldn't be surprised if this was the only suit he owned.

But it looked loose on him. Just around the waist and his thighs. She had been right when she'd seen him last night. Greg did not look well. He wasn't healthy right now, wasn't taking care of himself.

Claire suddenly wanted to wrap him up in her arms and protect him, as small as she might be. She wanted to be close to him, to take some of that pain away, to tell him it would be okay.

Instead, she stuck out her hand, unsure of what to do. They'd been closer than this, closer than a handshake, but she didn't know how close to be now. But he brushed her hand away, pulling her into his arms. It wasn't until she leaned into the embrace that she realized she was crying.

"I'm sorry, Claire," he whispered, his warm breath tickling her neck.

"I'm sorry, too," she said. "I know how much he meant to you."

Greg leaned back, looking down at her. His eyes were red, his cheeks gaunt. He had trimmed his beard, but that only made his face look all the more hollow. This had hit him hard. Harder than she had thought it would. He'd never been able to eat during a . . . difficult time. Whenever his dad would move back in, Greg wouldn't eat. He'd come to school exhausted and looking like death, but he told her that he just couldn't eat.

It was happening again now, with her grandpa's death.

Claire placed her cold hands on top of his warm ones, hating the way her chest ached, but holding onto him still. She rubbed circles along the prominent tendons of his wrists, trying to calm whatever storm was raging inside.

"Did you eat anything today?" she asked.

He snatched his hands away and looked at the ground. "No."

"And yesterday?"

"Yeah."

"But not much."

He nodded.

"You're staying for the reception?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Then you better eat a lot. You know how my mom gets if you don't eat her food." Joy Andrews could be tenacious when it came to feeding people.

"I know." He managed a small smile, but then continued down the line to the rest of her family.

Claire watched, but then one of her grandpa's old co-workers was in front of her, and she had to look away. The visitation lasted hours, the line never seeming to end. Her feet ached and her back hurt, but she kept a straight posture and endured.

When the visitation finally ended, Claire walked with her family one last time to see her grandpa. His skin looked waxy, the wrinkles painted over. He still had his laugh lines, though, and the crow's feet around his eyes, the marks of a man who always smiled.

He held his old softball in his hand, the one that had the signatures of all his teammates that he had played with. Photos of their family lined the casket, along with drawings from his grandchildren, including her.

She'd been about six or seven when she'd drawn that picture. Her grandpa was her knight in shining armor, and she was the princess. The lines were crude, the crayon markings all over the place, but he'd loved it. Claire hadn't known he'd kept it all these years.

Tears sprang to her eyes once more. She held onto Bailey as they sat down in the pew for the service. Claire sat through the service, trying her best to sing, but her voice kept breaking. She tried her hardest, trying to give her grandpa just one last thing, but it was impossible. She simply choked on her tears and waited.