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Chapter Four

Claire watched as Greg got into his police car and turned the lights on. He would be the one escorting the procession. She was glad. It just felt right.

They followed him and the other officers to the cemetery, the line seemingly endless. The casket was carried to the plot, the smooth lid adorned with a bouquet of flowers. Her grandpa would be right next to his wife, Loraine having died years ago. It all passed by in a cold blur. Wind whipped at them, snow flurrying past, numbing noses and messing hair.

She huddled in her coat as the pastor led them through the final prayer. He was only wearing his robe and the dress clothes underneath, no coat. She could only imagine how cold he must be. But if he was, he didn't give any sign. They finished up with the final prayer, and said their final goodbyes.

One by one, they climbed back into their running cars. And one by one, they drove back to church. It was slow going, with all the snow, but they made it, parking their cars on the slushy streets before going to the church's gathering hall.

The Ladies' Aid was busy setting up the pots full of chicken and crocks filled with her aunt's pork and beans. There were platters filled with hamburgers, cheese, fruit, and those salads that weren't really salads. The tables extended all the way down the hall, each filled with another dish. Nobody would go hungry today.

Claire put her coat on top of the chair next to Bailey's, and they went up with their family. She scratched the undersides of the paper plate as she put food onto her plate. Just like with breakfast, nothing seemed particularly appetizing right now, but she took a chicken breast, a little of the pork and beans, some cheese whips, and a lot of carrots.

Her mother stopped right as they got to the table, and Claire almost ran into her. She kicked the carrot that had fallen onto the floor underneath the table.

"Mom, what –"

"Greg, honey," her mom practically shouted across the hall. "Come sit down with us."

He looked confused and mouthed, "What?"

Greg had never been one to shout.

Lincoln pointed to the seat next to him, nodding his head a little too vigorously. Greg seemed to understand then. His eyes locked onto hers, but she quickly sat down next to Bailey, turning her back to him. Her hands shook as she took a sip of water.

"Who's that?" her aunt Grace asked her, pointing back to what must have been Greg.

"Greg Hayworth," she answered around a mouthful of carrot stick. "You remember him, don't you? We went out in high school."

"Oh, that's right! I almost forgot. That just seems so long ago."

"Yeah, it was." Nine years, actually.

She made small talk with Grace, but it was mostly about what Arizona was like this time of year, and once again, Claire didn't want to talk about that. In truth, Arizona was beautiful right now. It would probably be about mid-sixties and sunny. Winter was the time of year when she actually liked living down there. Any other season, and it was just too damn hot.

Claire made sure to change the subject when Greg sat down. Like her, he hadn't grabbed much to eat. Also like her, he didn't like talking about Arizona. He didn't like Arizona. Period. They'd both had awful tempers whenever she had brought it up.

He was just diagonal to her, picking at his food. Lincoln was coaxing him, though, talking and smiling. The air was getting lighter, and even Claire found it was easier to breathe. It was as if everybody was coming back to life. There was laughter and there were smiles. Even her mom was smiling, her eyes no longer red and bloodshot.