Beyond the Point(112)
Breathless, Avery walked Hannah toward the door, where there were two chairs waiting for them to sit.
“It’s okay,” Avery said, stroking Hannah’s back. “It’s over. You did it.”
“It’s not him,” Hannah cried. “Tell me it’s not him.”
33
December 5, 2006 // Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia
Eight officers stepped up to a black hearse in two rows. They wore dress blue uniforms: dark jackets, light blue pants with a golden stripe down the side. The bills of their caps and the shine of their shoes reflected a gray sky. A carriage waited just ahead of the hearse, with seven dark horses standing perfectly still. This, Hannah knew, would go slowly.
And that was what she wanted. That was what Tim deserved. To have the slowest funeral procession ever recorded. For years to pass and the grieving to never end.
On the opposite side of the road, a full military band raised their instruments and seven riflemen raised their guns. The band began to play a hymn as one of the eight officers walked between the two rows toward the back of the hearse. Hannah looked through them, beyond them, feeling a cold gust of wind cross her cheek. She wore a brand-new dress—something Dani and Emily had picked out at a department store—but because the weather was threatening snow, she’d had to put on her down jacket and a scarf. She’d refused to wear sunglasses and hadn’t put on mascara either. Her eyes were unadorned and looked tired, but at least they were still open.
Grief unimaginable coursed through her veins with every slow, painful step. They removed Tim’s casket from the vehicle with exacting precision, as though they wanted to give his widow time to process each moment of the end. In unison, all eight officers stepped away from the hearse. They took another step away. Then another. And soon, the casket had turned several degrees, until it pointed toward the band. The American flag of the color guard waved in the breeze just behind the instruments.
There were no tears in Hannah’s eyes, but she held a handkerchief in her hand just the same. Wendy Bennett had sewn a band of lace around a square of delicate white fabric and had given it to Hannah a few days ago, when she stopped by the house to see her for the first time. Knowing Hannah had been inundated with decisions and visitors, Wendy had waited in the wings, finishing the cooking that she and Dani had started, picking up people from the airport, and probably praying. It was an unselfish person that could arrive at a funeral and serve without expecting a single thing from the grieving widow. It was strange to see Wendy, just as it had been strange to see every other extended family member and old friend arrive in Virginia. Hannah still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that they were really here for her—they were here because Tim had really died. But at least nothing hurtful had come out of Wendy’s mouth. Hannah’s grandparents and cousins felt they needed to comfort her with thin platitudes: Everything happens for a reason; You’re so brave; God has a plan. Their words grated on Hannah. She was grateful they’d come but wished they would leave her alone. For some reason, it was different with Wendy. Wendy’s service, with no strings attached, felt like real comfort. The dichotomy of her emotions was something she’d have to dissect another time. For now, she gripped the handkerchief, thankful for its presence in her hand.
The sound of the officers’ shoes hitting pavement filled the air. When they reached the horse-drawn carriage, the men lifted the casket, then slowly moved it from their hands to the platform on four spoked wheels. With the casket secured, the horses began their steady, melodic walk to the grave, as if coaxed by the wind.
Hannah followed twenty-one paces behind the carriage, taking in the sights and the smells of the cemetery. She kept reminding herself that this wasn’t a dream. That her husband was in that casket, being carried by those horses, to a grave that would bear his name. Hannah couldn’t take it all in. The beauty of this place. The deliberate honor the officers were showing her family. The police escort that had shut down the Beltway for their procession to Arlington National Cemetery. The hundreds of souls that followed her up this hill. Mark and Wendy Bennett. Locke’s new wife. Every basketball teammate she’d ever had—including Sarah Goodrich, who’d flown in all the way from Hawaii. There were old professors, Tim’s parachuting team, and hundreds of others she hadn’t had time to see or greet. Every step they took was sacred. Tim would have wanted it this way, she knew. He deserved it this way.
When they reached the graveside, Hannah lowered herself into a foldout chair, trembling. If it hadn’t been for the birds, the hushed sniffles, and the phantom breeze, it would have been completely silent.
Seated in the cold, the image of that stretched, strange face in the casket resurfaced in Hannah’s mind, and she clenched her eyes closed. She didn’t want to remember Tim that way. Recalling a different memory, her mind expelled the image of Tim in the casket and replaced it with his smile as he stood at the center of Cullum Hall.
That night, their senior year at West Point, the doors had been propped open by two large lanterns, flickering against the darkness. When Hannah passed through the entrance, a glowing line of candles had directed her path through the darkened building to a wooden door. The ballroom was behind that door—the place where she and Tim had first danced, awkward, bumbling, and happy. Nervous, her hands shaking, Hannah had reached for the metal handle, pulled the door open, then burst into tears.