Page 113 of His Last Shot
He’s dead, but is it safe to be together?
How long should I wait?
Or will she contact me?
Does she still want to be with me?
Because God knows, I ache to be with her. If she knocked on my door right now, I would scoop her up in my arms, kiss her to high heaven, and never let her go again. These past five years have been hell without her in my life.
I hate all this uncertainty. So, I do the one thing that I do best. The one thing that clears my mind above all else. I grab my cue and head into the garage, ready to take my frustrations out on fifteen pool balls.
I’m leaning against a large oak tree in Spring Lake Cemetery. It’s a bright and warm sunny day. Even the weather’s happy about what has happened.
From a distance, I watch them lower Dexter into the ground. I’m far enough away that I can’t make out the minister’s words. Besides, it would all be false platitudes about the evil man. My focus, however, is only on one person.
Rachel.
She’s sitting in the first row of folded chairs next to her brother and some other people I don’t recognize. She’s stoic, her back is ramrod straight, with oversized sunglasses covering her gorgeous brown eyes. Behind her are the Oldies but Goodies. Slick has his hand resting on her shoulder. I love that she has them as a source of comfort and strength.
No one is wearing black, and I wonder if that was intentional. Rachel is stunning in a green dress that hits at her knees. This is the first time I have laid eyes on her since that day in the ER. I don’t know how it’s possible, but she has gotten even more beautiful with time.
A prayer is offered (a waste of words to the man upstairs if you ask me), and one by one, people form a line, grab a handful of dirt, and toss it into the ground. Micah starts, Rachel follows.
After it’s over, I watch the mourners stand around chit-chatting. A war is raging inside my head because I know I should leave. Being here is probably not the best idea. But I am trying to will her to look in my direction. More than anything, I need her to know I was here.
Just like at her graduation.
Tiny glances around the cemetery and does a double-take when he sees me. He subtly nods.
I return it.
With rapt attention, I watch as he makes his way to Rachel. Without drawing too much attention, he casually places his hand on her back and whispers in her ear.
She pivots around.
Our eyes connect.
My heart stops.
A huge gulp of air lodges in my throat. We stand there in a wordless stare, full of emotion and love. With a small wave and her soft smile, we share a silent acknowledgment. Then she wipes at her cheek, turns, and heads to the row of cars parked along the narrow road of the cemetery with her brother and sister-in-law.
The encounter was brief.
But it was everything.
With a heavy heart, I walk to my truck, glancing one last time in her direction, but she’s nowhere. Climbing into the driver’s seat is a herculean feat because, more than anything, I want to run to her. As I sit here, my resolve is hanging by a thread, my self-control in shambles.
But deep down, I know she needs to take the lead in this. I’m not on the inside.
She is.
So I will be patient and wait.
I start the car, and when I do, my phone vibrates from the middle console.
With shaking hands from the adrenaline rush because of a ten-second stare, I grab my phone and read the text.
Unknown number: Soon, my love. But not yet.
