Page 134 of Every Good Thing
She hasn’t told them about Lauren.
I accept the programs, relieved that she’s spared me from her best friends clawing my eyes out on sight. For now.
But I ache, too. Lena’s lived with this information for over a week, hoarding her pain with no one to help her through it so that she could be strong for everyone else. Shit.
“Whatever you need,” I tell them before leaving for my assignment.
Forty minutes before the starting time, the church is empty. The front altar and side tables are adorned with flowers—so many that the air is thick with their scents—and pictures. Large collages of Mrs. Moore’s life line the front. There’s no casket or urn—Mrs. Moore donated her body to one of her loves, science.
I take my position at the lobby doors. I mentally prepare for the inevitable backlash. The community may not want to see me. Lena is their sweetheart, everyone’s daughter, sister, and best friend. And they all know I’ve hurt her.
Dark clouds, heavy and angry, linger outside the main doors as the first vehicle arrives—Mr. Wickers’s Prius. Trisha emerges from the passenger seat and dashes through the rain to the Fellowship Hall with a covered dish. Mr. Wickers makes his way toward me.
“Welcome,” I say, handing him a program.
“Ben.”
“Mr. Wickers.”
Though the entire sanctuary is available, he plops into the pew beside my post. He swipes his bald head free from the rain and cleans the drops from his glasses with his tie in silence.
I’ve always appreciated his word economy.
I watch for more attendees through the church’s glass doors, but the driving rain pelts the gravel lot, and I expect people are waiting it out.
“Lena saved me,” Mr. Wickers says. “Everyone knows that.”
Pause.
“What they don’t know, and she doesn’t either,” he starts again, “is how true that statement is. Two months after my retirement, on a Thursday morning, she visited my house with her little bin of cupcakes and interrupted, well… let’s say I was about to take another early retirement.”
My pinched eyes dart to his.
“Ben, I’m fine now. I promise,” he says, amused at my concern.
It’s my job and responsibility as a human to be concerned—I don’t see what’s amusing.
“Better than fine. When I think of all I would’ve missed…” His head shakes like he’s ashamed.
“It was the right time to retire from work. Things started to slip, you see. My energy, motivation, and speed weren’t there anymore. You do a job for fifty years and get tired of the grind. I wanted to hang up my blues.”
He chuckles, though again, I don’t know what’s funny.
“Little do you know how much of your self-worth is tied to work. How much purpose it gives you. When the novelty of having all that time on my hands wore off, I looked around and didn’t find a purpose anymore. I didn’t know what to do with myself. And thought I’d be better off… well, you get it.”
I do—after Adam, I lost my purpose.
He stops to rub his hands along his legs like he’s warming them up. “There she was… She asked how I was doing, she hadn’t seen me in a bit. Made chitchat, like she does.”
I nod.
“I said to her, what made you think to visit me? She said, ‘When you love someone, you show up. Ben taught me that.’”
A soft sigh puffs out as I try to remain unmoved.
I taught her to show up, but I haven’t been here.
I taught her to rely on me and failed her repeatedly.
