Letters to Molly (Maysen Jar, #2)(99)

It mattered.

I wouldn’t change it for a thing. Jamie was the piece of our family we hadn’t realized had been missing. And Poppy was over the moon that we’d asked to name him after our departed friend.

As Finn turned off the main road and into the tree-lined drive at the cemetery, my irritation with today amplified. “This is so stupid.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” Finn muttered. “But let’s just get it over with.”

We pulled up next to a curb and parked behind a short line of familiar vehicles. I wasn’t used to packing up a baby, so we were the last ones to get here. Our friends and family members stood under the shade of a tree to avoid the scorching August sun. It was only eleven in the morning, but as soon as I stepped out of the Jeep, my sweat glands opened.

Finn hooked one arm through the handle of Jamie’s car seat and put the other around my shoulders. “You look beautiful.”

“I look awful.” I looked up at him and smiled. “But thanks for lying to me.”

“We’ll get through today. The kids will be gone at camp tomorrow. And you, Jamie and I are going to get some fucking sleep.”

I was taking a few weeks off from the restaurant, just managing the books from my laptop at home, and Poppy and Rayna had the rest covered. Finn had taken on a few freelance landscape-design jobs this spring but didn’t have any looming deadlines.

“You won’t hear me argue.” Tears welled in my eyes and I leaned into his side, sniffing them away. “I’m so, so tired, Finn. I don’t know if I can do this.”

“I’m right here.” He held me tight and kissed my hair. “I’m right here.”

I nodded, blinking the tears away as we got close enough for everyone to converge.

MacKenna and Brady approached first, wanting to see their new cousin again. One of the cutest pictures I had from this past week was of me in the middle of the hospital bed, holding Jamie, and all the kids piled around me, staring at his button nose.

“Hi. How are you today?” Poppy asked.

“I’m good.”

She frowned. “You’re dead on your feet.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, still using Finn as a crutch. “But we’ll get through today and then I can take it easy.”

“We’re making this short,” she declared. “It’s stupid anyway.”

“Hey,” Jimmy snapped. He’d been hovering over the kids to get a look at Jamie. “Let’s be respectful. Randall wanted this as his memorial service. We owe it to him to carry out his wishes.”

A chorus of groans filled the air. Every one of the adults rolled their eyes.

“Let’s get started,” Cole said. “Then we can get out of the heat.”

“I hope this isn’t the attitude you’ll have at my memorial service,” Jimmy grumbled as he led the way to the newest tombstone in this section of the cemetery.

He was the only one wearing all black today.

As we circled the tombstone, Jimmy pulled out some reading glasses from his shirt pocket. After they were perched on his nose, he unfolded a piece of paper that had been in his pants pocket.

“Thank you all for coming here today,” he read. “We are here to celebrate the life of Randall Michael James, a beloved friend.”

Jimmy went on to read about Randall. He recited a list of Randall’s accomplishments. He talked about those qualities we all loved most about our dear friend. And at the end, he dried a tear from his eye.

“Randall and I, well . . . I couldn’t have asked for a better friend at this stage in my life. The fights. The competitions. They were all in good humor. I’ll miss you, friend.”

The air was silent as his words echoed across the green grass. We all stared at the grave’s marker, until finally, MacKenna broke the silence.

“Mommy?” She looked up at Poppy. “Why is Great Grandpa going to miss Grandpa Randall? Isn’t he standing over there?”

Bless her little heart.

MacKenna pointed past us to a tree on the far side of the cemetery. A tree Randall was doing a poor job hiding behind.

Cole was the first one to start laughing. Finn, David and Rayna joined in next. Poppy broke last, causing Jimmy to toss the piece of paper in the air and mutter, “I give up.”

I tried to stifle my laughter but only because it hurt. Unfortunately, it was no use. I clutched my stomach and the medical band wrapped around me to keep the stitches contained.

Poppy laughed. “I’m going to pee my pants.”

“My stitches are going to split.” Still, I couldn’t stop. Even the kids had lost it.

“It’s good to see you’re all taking my death so seriously,” Randall said as he joined our group. “You’re all standing on my grave. Laughing.”

“You’re alive!” Poppy cried, throwing up her hands. “You wanted us to have a memorial service for you while you’re still alive. Of course we aren’t taking this seriously. It’s a million degrees outside. We’re standing over a tombstone that isn’t even complete because—again, you’re alive. And we’re not standing on your grave. Because, I repeat, you are alive.”

The laughter turned to howls that lasted much longer than the speech Jimmy had tried to give. Finally, we all pulled ourselves together, drying eyes and letting the muscles in our cheeks relax.