Rochelle was in the bedroom where she was going through her huge wardrobe of clothing. She tossed numerous suits, dresses, skirts, blouses and pants on the bed, intending to pack them into the suitcases setting on the carpet nearby. In the spacious closet, holding Tobias's clothing on one side, and hers on the other, she turned, and in a thoughtful mood, reached out, touching a couple of jackets Tobias had liked best.
The funeral was that afternoon, and the funeral home would be sending someone by soon to pick up the clothing to bury him in. She had no idea what to choose. What kind of things are people dressed in for their burial? She wondered dismally, not even knowing what the maid had chosen for her parents since they had closed caskets at the service. She felt tears expand behind her eyes in intermittent cycles over the misery of trying to make decisions when she was too confused to think.
Then like a hammer, it hit her, the misery of the years she had spent in this house, in this room, in this bed. The physical, mental and emotional suffering endured washed through her like a giant wave, mixed with the churning thought that she had taken a human life. The weight crushed down on her like a block of steel. She raised her hand in front of her eyes, studying it, seeing it holding a gun that pointed to Tobias's temple, then feeling the gentle squeeze of her finger on the trigger, the explosion…
She shoved Tobias's suits aside one at a time, rejecting one after the other, until, blinded by tears, she could no longer see. Her legs went limp and she crumpled to her knees, her head inclined, her upper torso pressed against her thighs. Loneliness engulfed her with such fierceness that she suddenly wished she were choosing clothing for her own funeral.
“Oh, dear God, what am I to do with my life?” she cried helplessly, thinking of Michael with longing.
The ringing of the doorbell chimed from the upstairs landing, and Rochelle's whole body stiffened with tense listening. When it rang again, she rose from her crouched pose, hurrying to the stairs and on down, expecting to see Bentley Harrison at the door, or the man from the funeral home to fetch Tobias's clothing. She still had not chosen a suit. She hoped either of them would help her choose.
She grabbed the doorknob, then wiped at the sheeted tears on her cheeks before opening it. “Uncle Bentley, I'm so gla...” she started to say, and then stopped, startled by the face before her.
“Michael?” His name came out in a shocked whisper.
A slow light crept into her green orbs, warming their depths, and suddenly she had never been happier in her life to see anyone.
Misery and joy compounded together as she crumpled to the hard marble on her knees, balling like a kid.
“It's okay, honey. I'm here to help you in any way I can.” He pulled her to her feet, and moved her inside. After closing the door behind him, he set his suitcase on the foyer and stood holding her.
He would have moved to the living room, but the doorbell rang again, persistently. Michael opened the door this time.
“Yes, what can I do for you?” he asked of the black suited man whose black car flaunted a funeral home logo on the car door.
“I'm here for the clothing for the deceased,” the pale faced man stated from a stiff vertical pose.
Rochelle was standing behind Michael. “Let him come in, Michael. I didn't know what to choose.”
Michael sent the man to a chair in the room off the foyer, and then went upstairs with Rochelle, taking the initiative to choose a suit, shirt, tie, underwear, socks and shoes for Tobias. He put it all in a zippered clothing bag while Rochelle sat on the edge of the bed and tearfully watched him. He took it back downstairs and she continued to sit on the bed, her gaze trained at some invisible object on the carpet.
She was sorting through her closet when Michael came back up.
Going to her, he wrapped his hands about her wrists, keeping her from pursuing her task.
“You don't have to do that just now, Chelle. It can wait until after the funeral. Come with me downstairs to wait for Bentley Harrison. He should be here soon. You look tired. Have you slept at all?”
“A little,” she whispered absently, letting him lead her downstairs. “Why did you come, Michael?”
“I came because I wanted to be with you, and because I knew you would need someone to help you get through this. But more than anything else, I came because I love you.”
“I'm glad you're here,” she said, breaking into tears again. “I can't seem to stop crying. I am a mess, Michael. I'm a real mess right now.”
“It's okay to cry, honey. It'll help heal the pain.”
She leaned her head back into the crook of his arm and shoulder. His arm reached reassuringly around her waist as they went downstairs. “This house has so many terrible memories,” she said after they were in the living room, sitting on the sofa. “When I walk into a room I almost expect to see Tobias there.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I'm staying at a motel not far from here. I thought about staying here, but I can feel his presence as strongly as if he were in the room with us.”
With a thoughtful glance at Michael, more words poured from her mouth in a rush. “Michael, I had to pull that trigger or he would have killed me instead, and he threatened to come after you. I had to stop him.”
He patted her back. “Chelle, you did what you had to do, what anyone in your place would have done. Honey, you had no choice.”
“Why do terrible things have to happen to people? Why can't people just be peaceful and happy?”
“If we had an answer to that question life would be paradise.
Honey, it will get easier in time. When all this is behind you, the memory will fade, and you'll go on with your life.”
“What am I going to do?”
Michael cupped her chin in his palm, and looked at her bruised face that was beginning to heal. “You don't have to decide that now, Chelle. I am here and I do not intend to leave you alone until you are sure what you do want. We will go away together, see new faces, experience a different environment, give you time to mend. What you have been through would have permanently wounded any woman lesser than you. You've got strength enough that you'll get through this.”
“I am so ashamed knowing people saw what Tobias did to me.”
“Don't think about that now. The pain will pass. You'll see.”
“If I can just get through today, through the funeral, then maybe things will slowly get better.”
“We'll get through it together. You're not alone,” he reassured her with loving tenderness.
She clasped his hand and held it to her heart. “No, I'm not alone, and when I'm with you, I've never felt alone.”
“Honey, you're never going to be alone again.”