I recognized him as the man in the cemetery, Josie’s husband, and I slid into the end of the pew he was sitting on. He was sitting right in the center, his arms stretched out on either side, his booted foot crossed at the knee, his dark eyes on his wife. When I sat down he turned those eyes on me and nodded once, a barely perceptible movement, and I decided I liked him just fine. I didn’t want to talk either. I wanted to listen.
The music was so beautiful, so sweet, that I wished Eli was here, just so I could look at him while I listened, but he’d kept his distance all day, and I found I missed him, and the music made me miss him even more. When Josie was done with the piece, she looked up from the keys and shaded her eyes a bit with her hands. Only the dais was lit, casting the rest of the chapel in shadows and she called out to me in her sunny way.
“Moses? Is that you? Welcome! Samuel, this is Moses Wright, the artist I told you about. Moses, my husband, Samuel Yates. Don’t worry, Moses, Samuel won’t bite.”
Samuel leaned toward me, stretching out his right hand, and I stood and walked toward him until I could clasp it in my own. I sat back down a few feet from him, and Josie immediately started playing something new, leaving me and Samuel to make our own small talk, which neither of us seemed especially inclined to do. But he intrigued me, maybe because he seemed so comfortable with himself, so in love with his wife, and so at odds with this town we were both connected to. When he began to speak, I welcomed it.
“Are you here to paint?” he said simply. He had the slightest hint of something exotic in his voice. A cadence or a rhythm that made me think his native tongue was Navajo. Or maybe it was just his presence. The man definitely had a vibe going. I imagined he could be damn intimidating, but people had said the same thing about me.
“No. Just to listen.”
“Good. I like the walls the way they are.” There was a hint of humor there and I smiled, acknowledging it.
“Does she do this often?” I inclined my head toward the organ.
“No. We don’t live here. My grandfather died a few weeks ago. We came back for his funeral and to help my Grandma Nettie with a few things. We’re heading back to San Diego tomorrow. Josie does this for me. I fell in love with her in this building. Sitting right here, on this bench.”
His candor surprised me.
“I fell in love with her here too,” I said softly, and his eyes snapped to mine. I shook my head. “I was ten. Don’t worry. Her music just made church a little more bearable. I had my eye on another little blonde, even back then.”
“Georgia Shepherd is a damn fine horsewoman,” he said. So Josie had told him about me and Georgia too.
“She is.”
“My grandpa was a dyed-in-the-wool old-timer. Rodeo, ranching, women-belong-in-the-kitchen kind of man. But even he had to admit she was something else. Georgia rides like my Navajo grandma. Fearless. Beautiful. Like music.” He nodded toward Josie and the music she coaxed from the keys. We sat, listening for several minutes before he spoke again.
“I’m sorry about your boy.” His tone was simple, his voice hushed, and it was all I could do not to bow my head and weep. I met his eyes instead, and nodded.
“Thank you.”
I found Samuel’s simple condolence as overwhelming as it was welcome. Eli was my boy. And I’d lost him. His loss was fresh. His loss was recent. For me, he hadn’t died two years ago. He’d died three weeks ago. For me, he’d died in the field behind Georgia’s house as she told me about that terrible day, as I’d seen it all happen. And somehow, this man had given me the validation I didn’t know I needed.
“You’ve come back to make things right.” It was a statement not a question.
“Yes.”
“You’ve come back to claim what’s yours.”
“Yes,” I agreed again, softly.
“I had to do the same. I almost missed my chance with Josie. I almost lost her. I thought I had time. Don’t make that mistake, Moses.”
I nodded, not knowing their story, but wishing I did. I listened to the music for a moment longer and then stood, unable to sit still any longer, even with the beauty of the music and the quality of the company. I needed to see Georgia. I extended my hand once more toward Samuel, and he stood too, before he took it solemnly. He was tall like I was, and our eyes were level as I shared my own condolences.
“I’m sorry about your grandfather. You will miss him. But he’s okay. You know that, don’t you?”
Samuel tipped his head, considering me. I wished I’d left that last part off. But I could feel his grandfather’s presence like a warm blanket, and I wanted to thank Samuel in the only way I knew how.
“Yes. I believe that. We are glad he’s not suffering anymore. We knew it was coming and we were able to prepare.”
My heart started to pound and my palms were sweating. I felt the anxiousness I’d felt all day flood my arms and legs as the words of Samuel and my client clanged in my head—I almost lost her, I thought I had time. We knew it was coming. I didn’t want to see the signs. All the warning signs were there.
I ran out of the church, down the stairs, not caring whether Samuel and Josie Yates now thought I was as crazy as all the rumors claimed I was. I ran across the grass and sprinted toward home, trying not to consider what all the signs actually meant.
I thought Eli was there for me. I thought he was there to bring me back to Georgia. But I was back and Eli hadn’t gone. Eli still hovered around. He still hovered around Georgia. Just like my great-grandfather had hovered around Gi in the days before she died. Just like the dead had hovered around the kids in the cancer unit. Just like that.
What if Eli had come for Georgia?