Preston's Honor(25)

**********

The church was packed to the rafters, but I managed to find a seat in the back, pressed between two families. I had to sit mostly leaned on one hip in order to fit, and the people on either side seemed annoyed that I’d squeezed myself in. But it was either that or stand in the back and I was too nervous to situate myself somewhere where I’d likely be one of the first faces the family saw as they entered the church.

The voices hushed as Camille Sawyer appeared in the doorway, her eyes red and her lips quivering. She must be in her fifties but she was still a stunning woman who, from a distance, looked more like thirty-five. Her pale blonde hair was in a classic twist and her figure was trim and svelte in a sleeveless, black dress. She stood in the light of the doorway for a moment as if she was posing for the cameras. The effect was striking with the sunshine streaming in behind her and highlighting her golden beauty, and if I’d had a cell phone, I would have been tempted to raise it and snap a shot. But then two tall figures joined her, taking her arms as they moved out of the backlight and into the dim church.

My breath caught and my stomach clenched. The last time I’d seen Cole had been a year ago but even since then, he’d changed. He was even broader, or maybe he just seemed that way wearing the stiff, dark suit, but the lines of his face were definitely stronger and less boyish than they’d been. My gaze traveled slowly to Preston and though he was identical to Cole, the change in him was more startling because I hadn’t seen him for so much longer. And my God, they were handsome. Something about their double beauty made them even more gasp-worthy. Throughout the church, I swore I heard a collective feminine sigh.

My heartbeat sped up and all the feelings I’d thought were in the past came slamming back in the time between one breath and the next. Oh dear Lord. How had I forgotten what it felt like to be in the same room as Preston? Had spending time with Cole on those two occasions over the years, emailing him from my school account now and again, led me to fool myself into believing that my feelings for Preston were the same easy, lukewarm emotions I had for Cole? Without having them together, without the contrast right in front of me, I’d somehow begun to believe my feelings for them were similar. More to the point, I’d wanted to convince myself of that falsehood because it was less painful than the truth that the twin I loved didn’t love me and had found it easy to leave without once looking back.

I sagged down on the pew as they passed by, both of them staring straight ahead, grief etched into their expressions. Camille Sawyer walked slowly, a singular tear sliding down her creamy cheek as she leaned in to Preston.

I sat numbly through the service, only able to see the backs of their heads. Their mother’s soft cries echoed through the church, and she turned to Preston again and he put his arm around her, pulling her close. She was between both of her boys and I wondered briefly why she appeared to rely more heavily on Preston to hold her up than on Cole.

“How sad,” the woman next to me murmured. “He was far too young.”

“Was it a heart attack, did they say?” her husband whispered.

“Yes. He died out in the fields. Fell right over. One of those Mexicans carried him inside.” One of those Mexicans.

In my peripheral vision, I saw the woman who’d uttered the words glance quickly at me and then away as if she’d just realized one of those Mexicans was sitting next to her. I stared ahead, pretending I hadn’t heard her.

After it was over, I watched as Preston and Cole walked back up the aisle, their crying mother between them. Preston’s jaw was rigid and Cole’s eyes were fixed straight ahead. I had the urge to reach out and touch their arms, to offer some measure of comfort, to let them know I was here, and I hurt for them.

The crush of people moved slowly toward the open doorway and by the time I stepped outside, the family was gone, back to their house as the paper had announced.

I’d decided earlier to drop by their home with a dish, if only to give my condolences, but I hesitated now, feeling nervous and unsure. There would be so many people there. They wouldn’t miss me; they had closer friends. They’d always had closer friends. I assumed half their high school class would be there, and they’d be overwhelmed as it was. But I also didn’t want to let my own fear stop me from doing what I felt was right—it was right to offer my sympathies to two people I cared about. And the paper had offered an open invitation.

I climbed in my car and checked on the pie I’d put in a cooler. The ice inside was almost completely melted, but the pie still felt cool. I’d siphoned twenty dollars from our budget to make the pie and had stayed up late after I’d gotten home from work baking it. Though I’d never made a pie before, I’d asked an older woman at work named Darla for a recipe and she’d given me one for an apple blueberry she said was sure to impress. It smelled amazing, and was pretty enough to present to the Sawyers.

The dirt road in front of the Sawyer family farmhouse was already lined with cars when I arrived and I pulled behind a red Jeep across from the barn and took a deep breath, glancing in the mirror to make sure I didn’t look too wilted. I didn’t have air conditioning in my car and I felt the sticky slide of sweat dripping down the inside of my black blouse and collecting between my breasts, but I hoped the color would hide any wet marks.

Grabbing a tissue from my glove box, I blotted at the sweat droplets on my forehead and upper lip, freshened my lip gloss, and got out.