Waiting On You (Blue Heron #3)(119)

They pulled up to the church. Bryce and Lucas were both pallbearers, along with four of Joe’s friends, two from college, two from Manningsport. They slid the casket from the back of the hearse and lifted it, carrying it slowly into the cool stone church.

This was the last thing he’d do for Joe. He was leaving after the funeral, and honestly, he’d be glad to get away.

The church was packed. There were Steph and the girls, all of them weepy. Faith and Levi, Tom and Honor. Gerard and the pretty woman from the bakery. Everett and Emmaline, the Manningsport cops, and the mayor. The woman who lived on his floor and watched Game of Thrones all the time. Jeremy Lyon, who’d been Joe’s primary doctor, and Jeremy’s boyfriend, whom Lucas had met one night at O’Rourke’s. Paulie Petrosinsky, wearing a long black sweater that dangled almost to the floor, stood in the back, as the church was packed. She gave him a sad smile, and he nodded in return.

Everyone had loved Smiling Joe.

And there was Colleen, sitting with her family—her mother, Connor and her little sister.

He looked away.

They set the casket down, and the minister began. Mercedes did a reading, from the Bible, and Stephanie read a sad poem by Robert Frost.

Then it came time for the eulogy. Bryce stood up, took his notes from his pocket with shaking hands and went onto the altar.

He cleared his throat. Took a deep breath. “My dad...my dad...my dad was...”

And then Bryce was crying so hard he bent over. He tried to get control of himself, failed, and just clung to the podium, sobbing.

Any anger Lucas had toward him—over Colleen, over Bryce’s easy, shallow life, over the love that was so endlessly showered on him and that seemed so taken for granted—evaporated.

Bryce was just a big kid. A big, sweet, dopey kid who wasn’t sure how to be an adult.

Lucas got up and went to his cousin. “Hey, buddy,” he said softly, putting his arm around Bryce’s shoulders and pulling him away a few steps. “Hey. You can do this.”

“No, I can’t,” Bryce sobbed.

Lucas pulled him into a full hug. “Sure, you can. You need to. For your dad, and for yourself.”

Bryce wiped his eyes on the heels of his hands. “Will you do it for me?” he asked. “Read what I wrote?”

“No. This is yours. You can do it.”

Bryce looked at him with his blue eyes, so like Joe’s, swallowed and nodded.

Then Lucas squeezed his shoulders and sat down again, stepping over Didi without looking at her.

Bryce took a shuddering breath. “Man, this is hard,” he said, and a sympathetic laugh rose from the congregation. “My dad was...well, he wasn’t perfect,” Bryce said. “He made mistakes. He was kind of lazy. But he loved me. He loved his family, and he loved the White Sox.” This got a few laughs. “He always wanted what was best for me. I can’t remember a single time my dad was mad at me, or yelled at me. Maybe he should have. I mean, I got away with murder.”

Another laugh, and Lucas felt himself smile a little, too.

“My dad just didn’t have it in him, though. He was never impatient, and he always seemed to be smiling. He was smart, too, a lot smarter than he let on. He probably could’ve done more with his life, but he was content with what he had.”

Steph leaned forward. “Sounds like Dad,” she whispered.

Lucas had been thinking the same thing.

“The best thing about my father, though,” Bryce continued, “was that he always saw the best in people. He wasn’t fooled by what was on the outside. He knew who the good guys were.” There was a long pause. Bryce was no longer crying, though...he was looking toward the back of the church. Staring.

Then he looked back at his notes. “I have a lot to do if I want to be even half the guy he was,” he said. “But I’m gonna try.” He looked to the ceiling. “Thanks, Dad.” His voice broke again. “I’m gonna miss you for the rest of my life.”

Then Bryce left the altar and walked past the first pew and kept going until he reached the back of the church. He went straight to Paulie, whispered something, and took her hand and kissed it.

“Let us pray,” said the minister.

* * *

THE RECEPTION WAS held at O’Rourke’s, as Joe had requested. There was a sign on the door: Closed for Private Function. Colleen’s cousins were manning the bar, but she was there, making sure things got done, giving directions, bustling in and out of the kitchen. She looked different, her hair pulled up into a sleek twist, a high-necked, sleeveless black dress.

She wasn’t smiling. More than anything, that was the difference.

He tried not to look at her. Visions of her kissing Bryce, pulling off Bryce’s shirt, underneath Bryce—no. He couldn’t go there. Not now. Last night, he hadn’t slept a minute, tormented by those same thoughts, but today was about Joe.

Drinks were flowing, toasts were made, food was served. Someone put the jukebox on, and it became festive as people told stories about Joe.

His uncle would’ve loved this.

Bryce looked happier, too. Lucas checked in on him from time to time, told him the eulogy was perfect. He had an arm around Paulie, who was attractively flushed. “Good to see you, Paulie,” Lucas said as Bryce listened to one of the college friends telling him about a prank Joe had pulled.