Emma
My phone buzzed under my pillow, slowly pulling me from sleep. The warm glow of the morning light filled my sight, a moment of joy filling me before I remembered what today was. Sighing softly, I peeled open my eyes, watching the beam of sunlight that shone through the window onto Luke.
His dark, lush lashes fluttered softly as he dreamed, little breaths slipping through his lips. I propped myself up on my elbows and rubbed my eyes. I hit the home button on my phone, silencing it. My phone read 8:00 exactly. It was Friday morning, a day all of us were ready to put behind us.
"Luke" I sang softly, rubbing his back. He groaned, slowly rolling over to face me. He blinked a few times as I watched his eyes focus on the world around him. A shadow of grief passed over his face as he remembered, a groan escaping him. He buried his face in the pillow, his thick hair sticking up in every direction.
"I know, I know but if you don't get up now you'll be late" I licked my finger before rubbing off the dry drool on his cheek. "And by the looks of it, you'll need a shower too" I smiled gently.
He opened one eye, studying me before he returned a smile, a small forced one. For me, it was better than that sad, empty stare I had gotten used to.
Sitting up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He sighed heavily, glancing at me. "Do I have to go?" he asked quietly, the sadness blanketing him again.
I sat next to him on the edge of the bed, taking his hand in mine. "Yeah," I said, nodding softly. "You'll regret it if you don't. Trust me" I assured, setting him with a knowing look
He solemnly nodded before standing up and trudging to the bathroom. I had showered last night so he could shower this morning.
I walked to the closet, pulling out a black dress that I had brought over the last time I stopped by my house. I slipped it on, watching as it fell to right above my knees. I examined the long, flowy sleeves and lace neckline that reached the base of my throat.
The last time I had worn it was for John's funeral, the aching in my heart intensified. He'd know what to do, what to say to Luke, I thought, pulling on black tights and matching high heels. Sighing, I walked to the mirror, brushing out my hair, and putting on what little makeup I wore.
I went back to the closet, finding Luke's suit and laying it on the bed. It would have been nice, seeing him in that suit at prom, or a wedding. Not his father's funeral.
Shaking the thought out of my head, I went to the downstairs bathroom and brushed my teeth. I peeked my head out of the bathroom, glancing down the hall. I stared at the white door that leads to Luke's parents- well, mom's room. The cracks in the door were dark, no light seeping through.
"Mrs. Smith?" I asked, walking towards her door. Sighing, I knocked softly on the door. I waited, pressing up against the wood, listening. A few moments had passed and there was no response. "Mrs. Smith, I'm coming in now" I announced, trying to avoid an embarrassing situation that may arise.
I pushed open the door, the scent of alcohol hitting me like a brick wall. The room was musty, the blinds sealed shut. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness but after a second, I spotted the slumped shape on the bed and the empty bottle of whiskey that lay on the floor.
"Son of a bitch" I muttered to myself, my heart beginning to race. Moving forwards, I grabbed the bottle off of the ground, throwing it in the trash. I moved to the bathroom, grabbing a cold, wet towel before returning to her room.
Placing it on her forehead, I shook her shoulders until her eyes peeled open. "Mrs. Smith, it's time. You've got to get ready." I told her, watching reality begin to sink in, along with a nasty hangover.
"I-I can't" she sighed, looking away from me, embarrassment flush on her cheeks.
I shook my head, moving to the windows where I pulled open the blinds. Fresh air then rushed into the room as I pulled open the windows, lessening the suffocating stench. "You're going. You have to. For your husband, and for your son" I told her, ripping back the comforter.
When she showed no sign of movement, I decided tough love was the way to go. "C'mon," I told her, grabbing her arms and pulling her to her feet. I guided her to the bathroom, pushing back the shower curtain before turning on the water. "Shower, please. I'll get everything else ready" I instructed, her vacant eyes meeting mine before she nodded.
I stepped outside, quickly making the bed. Then I moved to the closet, laying out the dress I had helped her pick out for the funeral, along with a pair of shoes. Next was a glass of water and Advil, which I set on her nightstand along with her makeup.
Looking around the room, I figured this was as good as it was going to get. My eye caught a picture frame that stood on her dresser, a smile pulling on my face. It was a picture of the three of them. Luke, and his parents. Luke looked so young, so innocent where he sat on his father's shoulders. Mrs. Smith smiled up at her husband and son with an amount of love only known to parents. They were a perfect happy family. Were.
I sighed sadly, pushing the thought away. Today was going to be tough, but more so for them. I had to be there for them, and that meant not losing myself in a spiral of grief. So I went back to the kitchen, perching on a barstool as I waited for them to get ready.
A few minutes later, Luke lumbered down the stairs as if he was still asleep. Leaning against the doorframe, he looked me over. "You look pretty" he whispered tiredly, trying to muster up a smile.
His suit looked dark as night against his pale skin, the bags under his eyes heavy. It hung on his skinnier frame, that worry spreading through my body. "Thank you" I said, walking up to him before straightening his tie and smoothing out his jacket. "We're gonna get through this," I told him, taking his face in my hands.
Luke only nodded, his eyes already shimmering with tears. With the sound of a creak, we turned to find Mrs. Smith's door opening before she stepped out. The dress fit her nicely, the heels on the right feet. Even her makeup and hair were done, which was an improvement. But even all of that couldn't disguise the look of grief that weighed on her, the heavy, purple bags under her eyes.
Eyes meeting mine, Luke sighed tiredly, recognizing not only the look of grief but the look of a hangover. I grabbed his hand, squeezing it tight. "Its gonna be okay, I'm here" I whispered into his ear.
He smiled a tight, small smile. His eyes watched his mother as she passed, her hands trembling as they grabbed the keys from the counter. "Alright, let's get this over with," Mrs. Smith said pushing past us.
Acting quickly, I grabbed the keys out of her hands. She glanced at me with wide eyes, a soft smile on my face. "I'll drive."
Third Person
The Smiths and Emma separated when they arrived at the funeral. Luke helped carry the casket along with Mr. Smith's military colleagues. Mrs. Smith led the way, the rest of the guests following behind. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining down on the many attendants, all cloaked in black. The air was quiet, still, only the sounds of birds chirping carrying in the breeze. The scent of magnolia surrounded the cemetery, a large tree in the middle sprouting pink blossoms that released the smell.
The walk to the burial site felt like a lifetime, for Luke whose father's casket rested on his shoulder, for Mrs. Smith who winced beneath the sun and the thoughts of what would come next, and for Emma, who wanted so badly to be up there, comforting Luke, but respected tradition and hung behind.
When they finally arrived, Luke and the soldiers set the casket down over the gaping hole in the ground. The casket was long, the dark brown chestnut wood glimmering under the sun. There was a large American flag on the casket, the pristine gravestone reading, James Smith. Beloved husband, father, and friend. The stone was surrounded by large bouquets of flowers, tiny flags stuck in the ground.
Luke and his mom stood on one side of the casket while Emma and everyone else stood on the other. A line of soldiers stood behind Luke and his mother, their postures rigid and shoulders squared. The priest began the service, tears glimmering in everyone's eyes, if not running down their cheeks.
Emma's eyes were trained on Luke, watching his tall frame tremble, a tear slipping down his face. An unmistakable gap stood between him and his mother, the distance strong as the beams of sun that beat down on them. They wore the same look of devastation, the same look of grief, but yet they stood apart, grieving separately.
The casket began to lower, making its slow descent into the ground. The stream of tears on Luke's face became a river, his eyes wide and fearful, like a child who was lost. Tearing his eyes away from his father's body which was disappearing into the shadows of the earth, Luke's eyes met Emma.
At the sight of her, a sob escaped him. Luke reached out his hand, Emma quickly moving past the rest of the crowd before so closed the distance between them. He needed her and she was going to be there.
Emma reached out, grabbing his hand as she finally met his side. Luke turned into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, sobbing against her dress. It took everything in her not to break down and sob along with him.
Instead, she squeezed his hand, running her thumb along his knuckles as they listened to the priest. They listened to the service and tried to find a celebration of life instead of a service of death. They stood hand in hand until the priest had finished the service.
Finally, the service ended, the casket laying at the bottom of the hole. Luke stepped forward, his trembling hand picking up dirt. He walked to the edge, staring down at his father, trying to come to terms with the fact that it was the last time he'd see him. Or at least see his body.
Extending his hand, he released the dirt, watching it blanket the casket. Emma did the same, stepping up next to him before letting the earth dribble from her hand, onto the wood beneath. They stepped aside, taking it all in.
The military men grabbed shovels and began to fill in the hole. Guests began to shuffle out, planning to meet them at the wake that took place afterward. They stopped by Mrs. Smith to pay their respects, the woman able to pull herself together enough to smile and thank them. It took a while, as it seemed that everyone in town had shown up including the lacrosse team and Sam.
Luke watched with teary eyes as the men buried his father. The sight soon became too much, sobs escaping him as he turned into Emma. He bent down and buried his head into her shoulder. She wrapped her arm around him, squeezing him tight.
Sam came up next to them, Emma and him exchanging a sorrowful glance. Sam leaned into Emma, encompassing both of them in his arms. He couldn't imagine how much Luke was hurting, or how much Emma was struggling to take care of them both. They stood there for a while as the sun was slowly encompassed by clouds.
After a few moments, soft drops of rain began to fall, joining the tears on their faces. Luke's mom walked back to the car, but Emma, Sam, and Luke didn't move. They stood there in the rain, staring down at the grave where grass would soon grow and life would carry on. Sam holding Emma and Luke, and Emma holding Luke. It was done. Luke's dad was officially gone.