Uncharted (10 page)
“The airport,” she told him when he slid behind the wheel. “United.”
The man nodded and pulled into traffic. When they reached the interstate, he caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “Long trip ahead?”
“All the way to Boston. I’ll be flying all day.”
“You got family in Beantown?”
She couldn’t stop a smile. Colored now with the sepia tones of nostalgia, her memories of the group had become precious. Karyn, David, Susan, Mark, and especially Kevin—at one point, she couldn’t have imagined living more than a mile from any of them. How had they drifted apart?
“Yes,” she said. “I’ve got family there.”
“Ah, a reunion.” The rearview mirror filled with a flash of crooked, coffee-stained teeth. “Those are always nice.”
As Seattle slid away, Lisa realized why it had been so easy to ignore David’s e-mail entreaties—somehow she’d imagined she’d always have another chance to take him up on his offer. Even in death, he was teaching her.
She would never take another invitation for granted.
Boston
Kevin Carter was taken aback when the taxi halted before an unadorned building of brick and glass. The one-story structure faced the highway on a wide, grassy lot surrounded by windswept trees. Rain pelted the high windows and darkened the parking lot.
“Hang on, driver.” He pulled a note from his pocket. “This can’t be the address. I’m looking for a church, Boston Community Fellowship.”
The cabby pointed to a small wooden sign near the street. “Boston Community Fellowship,” he read in a strong accent. “322 Fellowship Drive, just what you say. This is place you want.”
Kevin read the sign for himself. Considering David’s background and position, he had expected the funeral to be held at a downtown cathedral. This square, squat building looked more like a school than a church.
“Thanks.” He dropped fifty bucks over the seat, then fastened the top button of his trench coat and stepped out of the vehicle. Despite the rain, several people lingered on the wet sidewalk; beneath the umbrellas he saw men in dark suits and women in attire ranging from casual to subdued. Oddly enough, he noticed very little black clothing. Could he be in the wrong place after all?
He turned back toward the taxi, but it had traveled down the curved driveway and was about to pull onto the highway. This had to be the wrong place; maybe there were two Fellowship Drives.
A red umbrella approached, then tilted back to reveal a short, bald man with dark eyes. The fellow extended his hand, then lifted his umbrella to shelter Kevin from the rain. “Frank Quick,” he said, smiling as Kevin shook his hand. He looked at the briefcase by Kevin’s side. “You must be from out of town.”
“I’m not sure I’m in the right place. I’m looking for a funeral—”
“David Payne, right? Julia asked me to watch for out-of-towners. Did she ask you to be one of the pallbearers?”
Kevin nodded.
“Then you must be one of David’s college pals. Come with me, and let’s get you out of the wet. I’ll show you where you can leave your bag.”
Kevin fell into step beside the man, bending to fit beneath the umbrella. “Have any of the others arrived?”
“I’m not sure; you’re the first stranger I’ve seen. The pallbearers will be gathering in the cloakroom. The funeral director will be in to give you instructions.”
Kevin followed the man into the building, then shouldered his way through the crowd jammed into the small lobby. A register stood on a lectern by a pair of open doors; he paused to sign it, then looked over a list of unfamiliar names.
Would he be the only one of the FSU group to show up?
A few feet away, Frank Quick gestured to him, so Kevin slid through the crowd and followed the man into a smaller room. Inside, beside an empty coatrack, stood a woman whose hands rested on the shoulders of a dark-haired boy. The woman’s hands were steady, but her eyes were swollen, her cheeks pale.
“You must be Kevin.” She gave him a shaky but genuine smile. “I’m Julia Lawson Payne, and this is Nicholas, my son.” She offered her hand.
Kevin shook it, then bent to meet the boy on his level. The child, who was small and thin, had David’s eyes.
Kevin smiled. “Nice to meet you, Nicholas. Many years ago, I knew your father well. We were great friends.”
Nicholas nodded, his chin quivering. Kevin straightened, not wanting to prolong the moment or say anything that might elicit tears.
“For years”—Julia’s gaze moved into Kevin’s—“I have looked forward to meeting you. David talked about you all so often.”
Kevin barely managed to conceal his surprise. When had this woman thought they would meet? David must have placed an unrealistic faith in his annual invitations. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this. I’m still in shock about the accident.”
When Julia closed her eyes, he saw a flutter of movement beneath her thin lids. “We will all miss him,” she said, “but he has gone to a better place. I’m sure he’s leaning over the balcony of heaven right now, thrilled to see us talking in this little room. I know he’s looking forward to seeing all of you.”
Kevin wasn’t sure what kind of drugs the woman had prescribed for herself, but being a doctor, she must have access to first-rate stuff. He folded his hands and searched for an appropriate response. Fortunately, the door opened, and a newcomer spared him the trouble.
Karyn Hall insinuated herself through the crowd, then nearly ran into the guest register. She scanned the names and notes left for the grieving family, then picked up the pen and scrawled her signature.
Her eyes froze on a name only a few lines above her own:
Kevin
Carter
. So he’d come too. Left his precious work long enough to honor an old friend.
She exhaled abruptly, wishing she could breathe the bitterness out of her soul. She hadn’t come here to obsess about Kevin; she’d come to show respect for David. She’d come to support David’s wife and child.
She’d come to be comforted in her own grief.
She paused with the pen an inch above the paper and tried to think of a Scripture reference or some reassuring phrase she could jot beside her name. Farther up the page someone had written
Love you!
in the margin. And on the opposite page someone had printed
John 14:2
.
She unfurled her church memories and recalled a verse about how dying was better than living, but she couldn’t remember the exact wording or the reference.
Finally, she sighed and wrote,
You’re in my prayers
.
That would have to do. She lowered the pen and bent to pick up her small case, then flinched as a hand fell on her shoulder.
Mark stepped into the cloakroom and felt his jaw drop. Kevin Carter stood next to a coatrack, looking lean and mean in a tailored black suit.
“Kevin!”
They embraced, slapping each other on the back, then pulled apart in that special awkwardness surrounding all things funereal. Kevin, quick to recover, gestured to the woman and boy at his side. “Mark, this is Julia, David’s wife, and Nicholas, their son.”
“How do you do?” Mark shook the woman’s hand, then chucked the kid’s shoulder. When the boy flinched at the contact, Mark wished he’d shaken the kid’s hand. He’d never been good with children.
He slipped his hands into his pockets and turned to Kevin. “You a pallbearer?”
“You both are,” Julia said, “along with four of David’s friends from church. After the service, they’ll step up when it’s time to roll the casket out of the sanctuary. If you follow their lead, you shouldn’t have any problem.”
Mark nodded, grateful to hear the word
roll
. The thought of having to carry a heavy casket through this mob didn’t appeal to him.
“I’m so grateful you were able to come,” Julia continued, speaking in a whisper so soft Mark strained to hear it. “I want you to come to the house for dinner and stay overnight, if it’s convenient. We’ve plenty of room, and I have a proposition I’d like to make to your group.”
Mark glanced at Kevin. “Did your girls come?”
While Kevin rubbed the back of his neck, Julia prodded Nicholas toward the door. “I called all five of you,” she said. “I hope Susan, Lisa, and Karyn are able to make it.”
Mark lifted a brow. “So—is K coming or not?”
Kevin shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re divorced.”
Mark stared, jaw lowered, then snapped his mouth shut. So—he wasn’t the only group member with secrets.
An older man in a dark suit stepped around the corner and nodded at Julia. “Are you ready?”
The widow bent to kiss her son’s cheek, then straightened and squared her shoulders. “We’re ready.”
The man, probably the funeral director, looked at Mark and Kevin. “You gentlemen have reserved seats down front. Just follow Dr. Lawson—I mean, Mrs. Payne.”
A crowd still filled the lobby, but Mark was too busy reeling from Kevin’s startling confession to look for familiar faces. He knew Karyn went by “Karyn Hall” instead of “Karyn Carter” these days, but didn’t a lot of women have double names? Even the widow leading them through the crowd apparently was
Mrs. Payne
in private life and
Dr.
Lawson
at work.
“So”—he elbowed Kevin as they moved through the crowd—“when did this divorce happen?”
“Long time ago,” Kevin whispered out of the side of his mouth. “It’s ancient history.”
Mark let out a long, low whistle. “Good grief, man. I can’t believe you didn’t call me.”
“You didn’t call me when
you
got a divorce.”
“I knew you would figure it out when you got the next wedding invitation.”
Kevin’s mouth quirked. “Oh, yeah. I got five of them.”
Mark shook his head. At least David had married happily. Julia seemed like a nice lady, though a bit on the somber side. And the kid was cute.
As they stepped into the heavy hush of the sanctuary, his thoughts turned to Julia’s comment. She had a proposition for their group? What could that mean? Either the woman wanted to do something sentimental to honor her husband, or David—no. Not likely.
Then again . . . what if David had mentioned the group in his will? A man needed to leave his estate to his wife and child if the woman had no resources of her own, but this Julia looked as though she came from money. Plus she was a doctor.
What if David had bequeathed some kind of inheritance to his five best friends?
What a hoot that’d be.
Without looking at the woman’s face, Susan knew Karyn Hall stood at the register. The figure was thinner than it had been in college, the hair darker and more subtly shaded, but there could be no mistaking the set of her shoulders and that quick, graceful movement as she bent to pick up her bag.
Susan placed her hand on the woman’s arm. “K? Is that you?”
Her friend turned, her mouth agape. “Susan! Oh my goodness, you haven’t changed a bit!”
“You always exaggerate, but I love you for it.”
They embraced, then Karyn pulled Susan out of the mob waiting to sign the guestbook.
“I hate crowds,” Karyn whispered, glancing over her shoulder as they retreated to a corner. “This place is packed.”