Beyond the Point(116)
Wendy sat, mouth agape, taking in the story.
“I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard . . . maybe ever,” she said, with a reverent shake of the head. “You girls. You know, it’s not the same at West Point without you there. Mark’s going to have to retire from the Army eventually. Maybe you can help him with his resume. Is E & G hiring?”
Dani laughed. Imagining Wendy’s husband with his military-grade haircut discussing commercials seemed odd in Dani’s mind. “I don’t think he’d like the culture there all that much.”
“Fair enough.” Wendy took a sip of water. “You know, while we were talking to Amanda, she mentioned her father works at the Citadel.”
“Yeah. I met her dad at their wedding. Nice guy.”
“She also mentioned the Citadel is hiring.”
“Oh, yeah? Think you guys would like Charleston?”
“Not for us, Dani,” Wendy said slyly. She leaned forward and touched Dani’s hand. “I hear they’re looking for an assistant basketball coach.”
35
December 5, 2006 // Arlington, Virginia
Avery stood at the front of the reception hall, smiling somberly at guests as they arrived to pay their respects. She and Emily had been standing in the foyer for an hour, taking people’s coats, directing them toward the back of the reception line, which still stretched around three walls of the room. The closet had filled with peacoats, rain slickers, long down jackets, and even a few furs. Every time the door opened, a gust of cold air reminded Avery of the freezing temperature outside. But inside, she could barely breathe, the air was so thick with warmth.
She’d shed silent tears through the entire funeral. Arlington cemetery was a national monument, and watching the honor guard fulfill their duty with such painstaking precision felt like watching a movie of someone else’s life. Throughout the procession, the burial, the twenty-one-gun salute, Hannah’s face had remained serene. Avery didn’t understand it. How could you stay so still in the middle of a hurricane?
While Emily took a few more coats into the closet, Avery turned to see a projector inside showing images of Tim’s life. First came a photo of Tim, his cheeks flapping in the wind, mid-free-fall during a skydiving jump. He was giving the camera a big thumbs-up with both rows of teeth fully exposed. That photo faded out while the next faded in: Tim in a hospital bed, his right arm propped up by a sling, the same thumb still pointed in the air. There was a murmur of laughter from the people in the room. That was Tim—happy and fearless, whether flying through the sky or bound to a hospital bed. Over the loudspeaker, a song played that Avery didn’t recognize, but she opened herself to absorb the music, though she couldn’t make out the words.
Soon, the photo of Tim in the hospital dissolved and was replaced on the screen by a picture from Thanksgiving last year. The photo was crowded with people: Dani’s family, Locke and Amanda, Hannah and Tim. Noah and Avery smiled from their position at the center of the photo. He had his arms around her waist. Like a fool, she stood there smiling, unaware of the future. Noah’s steel gray eyes cut through the photo and stared straight at Avery across the room.
The sight of Noah sent Avery straight toward the coat closet. A cry came out of her throat, raw and guttural—a wail. Avery stumbled through the closet door, slammed it behind her, and then sobbed, loud and deep, like something in her gut was trying to crawl out of her throat and could only do so if she opened her mouth wide enough. Everyone out there could probably hear her, and so she shoved a row of beautiful coats off the rack and onto the floor, where she fell into the cloth and fur and wool, which muffled her cries. She couldn’t begin to feel embarrassed when there was so much else to feel. Decorum didn’t matter when compared to despair.
For the first time in many years, Avery thought about Wendy Bennett and a conversation they’d had in her living room. Something about Lazarus. And a prayer. What was it?
The words came to her as if from outside of herself. As if someone else had whispered them into her ear from the past. Lord, if you had been here, none of this would have happened. Suddenly, that felt like the most honest, heartfelt prayer she could possibly muster. She repeated those words over and over again until it became the cry of her heart. Where was God when she’d arrived at West Point, only to sit at John Collins’s table? Where was God when he broke into their locker room and hid his camera? Where was God when she sat on the witness stand, being berated and called a liar? Where was he then?
And where the hell was he now?
Suddenly, the closet door opened, revealing a petite silhouette, a strand of pearls. Wendy must have seen Avery escape into the closet, because her hands were full of clean tissues that she handed to Avery after closing the door behind her. She was the last person Avery wanted to see, and yet, as Wendy took a seat on the floor beside Avery, she realized she didn’t have the energy to pretend anymore.
“I don’t really need a sermon right now,” Avery said, letting her bitterness hit Wendy hard. She’d expected it to send Wendy out the door as quickly as she’d come in. But to her surprise, Wendy didn’t budge.
“Keep screaming,” Wendy coached. “You’ve got to let it out.”
“I guess everyone heard me,” Avery said, using the tissues Wendy had offered to wipe her eyes. The white fibers went black with smudged mascara.