A Wild Ride (Jessica Brodie Diaries #3)(74)

I held out my hand for her, tears streaming down my face.

“Yes, it fits you perfectly. You have great taste, my dear. Great taste. And Willie has great taste to have chosen you. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll watch out for you. I told him that when I passed, he was to watch out for you better than I would. He would have anyway, of course.

“I wish I could have seen you marry. I have always had a fondness for him. He always had such tremendous pressure put on him, but he turned out such a good boy despite it. He found a good woman that will look after him.”

William hugged me tighter, needing my strength and warmth as much as I needed his.

Gladis then looked at Lump and Adam. “I wish I could have known you longer, Betsy. I enjoyed the time we had. I enjoyed watching you face your fears and grow up into a beautiful woman before my eyes. You look happy now. Fulfilled. I am glad I could have seen that.

“And Adam, such a troubled young man. Always with the doubts and depth that no woman could reach. You found one, though. You finally found a woman that can quiet you on the inside. Guard her well, she is not as strong as she lets on. Marry her, Adam. You won’t find any better, and neither will she.”

Gladis closed her eyes and sighed, struggling for breath.

“I am tired,” she said. “Seeing so many people is tiring. One last thing.” She looked at William. “Your name will be next to hers. I have already made the correction. You must help her and guide her. She will be a fish out of water and will surely flounder. Help her, Willie. My trust is in you, now.”

Gladis closed her eyes again, struggling for breath. “I must take a short rest. Lady, have them sign the book, please.”

Lady pushed us toward a book similar to one you might sign at a wedding, or funeral. We put our names, each leaning to another for support. When we were all finished, the nurse said, “She has passed.”

I remember yelling something, not quite sure what, and then being wrapped up in William’s large body. I remember struggling and crying, wanting to get to Gladis, not believing the nurse. I was taken outside the room then scooped up in William’s arms and taken from the hospital.

Days passed in misery. Gladis had become dear to me. She had helped me fit into adulthood. She helped me secure William, who was now my life line. She had helped me deal with trials and succeed in life, finally. She was a mentor as well as a dear friend. I didn’t know her for long in the grand scheme of life, but she had known me better than my own mother. She wasn’t a stand-in, but a figure all her own that fit in a special niche in my life. That niche was now empty and I felt empty at its loss.

The Davies planned the funeral, asking me things that Gladis would have liked or wanted to see. It turned out that I knew her best in her Golden Years, and I never had to guess the answers to any of the questions. We planned a big service and a grand party at her house after. The kids were welcomed to a pool party with a staff of sitters so the adults could arrive in style and luxury.

During all the planning William was always close. Sometimes he was lending support, sometimes he needed it. It was a milestone from his childhood, and a big piece of him was hollow as well. We made love often, always slow and gentle, needing to feel each other in order to close out the harshness of reality.

The day of the funeral arrived. I put on my most fabulous black dress. It was conservative enough for church, but stylish enough for a party in Gladis’s honor. Gladis would have liked to go out with a bang, and I saw to it that everyone remembered that about her.

We arrived to the church in a limo with the Davies, Adam and Lump. The place, a larger church by normal standards, was already packed. All of the top society was there to morn a pillar of their community. If they didn’t know Gladis personally, they knew of her through donations, or fund raisers, or a million other ways Gladis helped those around her and those in need. It warmed my heart that such a spectacular lady was so well loved. It was fitting.

The Davies had a reserved pew in the front of the church, but not in the family seating area, which was the first pew. On my way up to sit with them, an aged, portly man with gray hair and glasses hurried up to me. William stiffened at my side. His face relaxed at my curious look, but I could tell something was bothering him.

Before I could ask, the man saw me and stopped.

“Good,” he said, out of breath, “You are Jessica Brodie, are you not?”

“Yes.”

“Hi, I am Dean Whitaker. I am the executor of Gladis’s estate. I am to usher you and William Davies to the family seating area. Please follow me.”

“But, I'm not family,” I said in confusion.

“Yes, dear. But you are to take the place in her daughter’s absence. Gladis wanted a representative of her choice for family instead of… well, if you will please follow me.”

Gripping William’s hand, I followed the man to the front. I was sat in the front seat on the aisle. It was the prime seat for family, where her natural daughter should have been. I didn’t know how she had died, or when, but I was sad for Gladis that it had happened. By the murderous expressions on the step-kids’ faces, I was not welcomed.

The service commenced with the usual drivel from the priest. Then guest speakers were called up to read some of Glaidis’s favorite poems. That was followed by a slide show of Gladis’s life, most of which I was seeing for the first time. After that the priest closed up the sermon and allowed Denise to go up and announce where the after party would be in Gladis’s honor. She intentionally called it a party, which got quiet laughs from those that knew Gladis best.