Page 63 of Lone Wolf in Lights
Obviously not taking no for an answer, he shook his head, but jumped out and then opened her door, offering his arm to her.
She gave him a pat, with a sly smile.
They approached the arched entrance of the church, the heavy wooden door groaning open at Eli’s touch. A myriad of colored light spilled through stained glass windows, casting a kaleidoscope across time-worn pews.
“Follow me,” Betty said, pulling her arm from his.
He trailed behind her, as they headed down the stairs to the basement. A murmur of voices grew clearer. He hesitated on the final step, his gaze landing on the circle of chairs occupied by men and women of all ages.
Eli stayed at the doorway, but Betty took his hand, tugging him into chairs near the door, but not in the circle.
“John used to say cancer wouldn’t beat him,” a middle-aged woman recounted, her pain on her expression was raw, unfiltered. “But in the end, it took him away, and all I have left are memories.”
Eli frowned, turning to Betty, saying quietly, “Why am I here, Betty?”
“Oh, my dear, this room...” Betty began, just as quiet, her gaze sweeping over the assembly of somber faces, “holds a key to happiness.” She paused, glancing back to him, and leaning in to keep the conversation private. “Time,” she continued, “is our most precious gift. We’re given moments, mere moments to hold, to cherish. Every second is a treasure. And it’s up to us, the living, to honor those seconds, to weave them into a beautiful life.”
Eli couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but listen to her.
“See,” she began, “people handle grief in so many ways.” She motioned toward a man who sat hunched over, his hands clenched tightly around a photograph. “Some folks, they cling to their pain, afraid that letting go means forgetting.”
He looked in the same direction she was looking, noticing the rigidity in the man’s stance and the way his knuckles turned white as he gripped the picture frame. Eli could feel a similar tension within himself, holding on tightly to memories he never wanted to lose.
“Then there are others,” Betty continued softly, “like me, who choose gratitude.” Her eyes danced with an inner light. “I’m grateful for every laugh, every moment of love I had with my Henry. It doesn’t make the loss any smaller, but it makes the life we shared so much bigger.” She looked around the room. “I come here, not to grieve, but to remember this important lesson. That I was lucky to have had true love at all. That I won’t tarnish its memory allowing my pain to consume me.”
Eli felt the room shrink down to just the two of them.
“Living in the now—that’s what’s important.” She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. “You can hold on to the anger, the loss, or keep moving forward.”
Her conviction, so fierce and yet so tender, stirred something within him. A longing for the kind of peace she described, for the ability to see beyond the pain, the anger, the loss. To only remember the happy times.
“Gratitude,” she said, the word hanging between them, “for the time given, for the love shared... That’s what keeps us whole.”
“Betty,” he began, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I’ve been...” He paused, struggling to find the right words.
“I know,” she replied softly. “Sometimes there aren’t words to explain how we feel.” Her hand squeezed his arm tighter. “But I saw the way you looked at Willow in the coffee shop day before yesterday. I know that love because Henry looked at me like that.” She patted his arm. “Don’t waste that love.”
As the session wound down, the group members rose from their seats, exchanging hugs and quiet words of encouragement.
“Time to go,” Betty said, standing up and smoothing the fabric of her pants. She turned to him. “Before you drive me to the bar to do more crafts, there’s one more thing.” Her eyes twinkled. “My husband was the sweetest, kindest man alive—so long as no one touched his family. You touched someone he loved, and you paid for it. Not from anger. Not from trauma. But because sometimes people need to learn not to touch something that doesn’t belong to them.” Her gaze scanned over his face, and she smiled sweetly. “You remind me of my Henry, you know. That same fierce loyalty, that protective streak. That’s not a fault, Eli. That’s simply a man that loves his family.”
Eli felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest. “Thank you, Betty, for the reminder,” he said, meaning it more than he could express. Somehow, within her words, he felt like he’d just received some good hard motherly advice that he should listen too.
“You’re welcome,” she said, patting his arm. “And now, you need to figure out how to make everything all right again and clean this whole mess with Willow up.”
Eli couldn’t help himself. He chuckled, now realizing he should have expected Betty to firmly plant herself in his business. “Yes, ma’am.”
Twenty
“Looks like the North Pole threw up in here—in the best way,” Willow muttered to herself late into the afternoon, a chuckle escaping her as she pictured the bustling Christmas market that would soon fill the bar tomorrow. From corner to corner, decorations were everywhere in the bar and Charly was finishing putting the ornaments on the Christmas tree on the stage.
“It’s perfect,” Aubrey said, glancing around the bar.
“Maybe a bit much,” Charly agreed. “But hey, can you really overdue Christmas?”
“I don’t think so,” Willow said. “Especially considering outside looks even more festive than in here.”
“There is that,” Charly agreed.
