Georgia Summer

by Heather Colleen

  Duke adjusted the tray on his arm. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.” His usually cheerful voice was suddenly more serious. “The sheriff goin’?”

  “Yes. Both my dad and I will be there.”

  “Well, I’ll see ya then, Miss Georgia. Rest up today,” he said as he brushed by behind her with the food. “We’ll all need a bit of strength tomorrow.” He glanced back at her.

  Georgia bit her lip. “I will. You too, Duke.”

  Duke nodded at her and went back out into the dining area, the steam from the freshly made food rising from the tray as he walked over to one of the booths where a young family sat. Georgia heard him greet them as he set the plates down on the table, his voice back to its usual, buoyant tone.

  Georgia walked through the dining area towards the door, ready to head home. As she walked by the barstool where Dr. Young had sat when they talked about his days in Italy, she looked at it briefly, remembering how much she had learned from him that day. She thought about his letter, and wondered what other secrets Dr. Young had kept, and how many he would take to the grave with him.

  Chapter 14

  The Funeral

  It was after eight when Georgia woke up the next morning. Normally by this hour her bedroom would be drenched in warm sunlight. But today, the light coming in through her window was weak, as though the sun didn’t have its usual strength to shine today. She rolled over and looked at the clock. She wasn’t used to getting up this late anymore.

  Rubbing her eyes sleepily, Georgia shuffled into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face. Then she went downstairs, still in her pajamas, her bare feet padding against the steps. She could already smell the aroma of coffee as she came into the kitchen.

  “Mornin’, Georg,” her dad said.

  She spun around, startled by his voice. “Oh! Good morning, dad.”

  “There’s a fresh pot of coffee ready for you.” He was sitting at the dining table, engrossed in the Sunday paper.

  Georgia poured herself a cup before sitting down next to him. It was oddly quiet as she sipped her coffee and her dad turned the pages of the newspaper. Even Millie seemed to realize that today was different from other days as she rested in her bed, watching the two of them with her thoughtful, human-like gaze.

  Georgia finally broke the silence. “Do you think it will be hard today, Dad?” She looked at her dad.

  His eyes flicked up from the paper and met her own for a moment, and then returned to the paper. “In some ways, yes. But in other ways, no.”

  “How so?” Georgia asked.

  He licked one of his fingers and turned the page. “Well, I never liked funerals much. Don’t know who does.” His eyes scanned the page. “And I’m not lookin’ forward to talkin’ to Mrs. Young. I haven’t got all the answers she’s lookin’ for.”

  Georgia looked down at her coffee, watching its steam rise for a moment as she thought of Dr. Young’s letter. “But you don’t think it will be hard in other ways?”

  This time her dad set the paper down and took a sip of his coffee. “Sayin' goodbye is always hard.” Her dad sighed. “But in a way, death was probably a blessin' for Dr. Young. I think he was sufferin’ for some time now.” He set down his coffee. “Death isn’t all bad, Georg. Just because they’re not here doesn’t mean they’re gone.”

  Georgia bit her lip, realizing he was talking more about her mom now than Dr. Young. “I know,” she said softly.

  Her dad reached over and patted her arm reassuringly. “It’ll be okay, Georg.”

  Georgia took a deep breath, still biting her lip.

  Her dad withdrew his hand and pushed his chair back. “Well, I need to get dressed. Figured we could head off in an hour or so.”

  “Sure. I’ll be ready by then.”

  He stood up with his empty coffee mug and then walked over to the coffeepot. Georgia could hear the coffee being poured as her dad refilled.

  “Oh, meant to tell you,” he said as he placed the coffeepot back on the warmer. “Virginia called. She won’t be comin' with us to the service today. The twins have come down with a stomach bug and she needs to keep them home.”

  “Really? Shoot. That’s too bad,” Georgia said, disappointed that her sister and the twins wouldn’t be there. She had thought that having them there would make today easier.

  “Guess it’s a good thing that it happened this week and not next, with their birthdays comin’ up and all.”

  “Oh! I had forgotten,” Georgia said, immediately racking her brain as she tried to think of what she should get them. “It’s next week, right?”

  “Mmhmm. We can look for somethin’ later on this week," her dad suggested.

  She nodded. “Sure, dad.”

  She heard him make his way to the stairs, his footsteps heavy as he went up to his room to change.

  Back in her room a few minutes later, Georgia stood in front of her closet, debating as to what she should wear to the funeral. She selected a fitted, black lace dress with black tights. The dress had a matching ribbon that tied around her waist, highlighting her slim figure. As she slipped it on, she was glad to see that it still fit perfectly since she had gotten it last summer. Maybe the ‘Freshman Fifteen’ really was a myth after all.

  Realizing she needed a purse, Georgia dug through the drawers in her closet, looking for an appropriate handbag that would suit her dress. She found a small, black beaded purse that had been her mother’s and took it out. She then went over to her chest of drawers. Pulling out the top drawer where she kept her under things, she took out Dr. Young’s letter that she had tucked away at the back of the drawer, and slipped it into her purse.

  Georgia then went into the bathroom to address her hair. She brushed it out, taming the dark brown waves. Seeing that it was actually going to behave today, she decided to leave it down, an anomaly for her as she almost always pulled it back and out of her face. She then applied mascara and lipstick, leaving the rest of her pale face untouched. Twisting the lipstick cap back on, she took a step back and looked at herself in the mirror. The mascara on her eyelashes emphasized her dark blue eyes even more. She leaned in closer to the mirror, inspecting the cherry red lipstick she had just applied. Deciding it didn’t suit, she snatched a tissue and dabbed it off. As she tossed the used tissue into the bin, she heard a knock on the door.

  “Georg? You ready?” her dad asked.

  Georgia hurried over to the closet and grabbed her black heels. “Yes. Coming.” She opened the door to her dad standing there. “I’m ready,” she announced.

  Her dad raised his eyebrows as he took her in. With his daughter back home for the summer, it had been easy for him to forget that she wasn’t a little girl anymore, but a grown woman. “You look…nice,” he managed to say.

  Georgia smiled at him. “You too, dad.” Her dad had dressed the part well today. He was wearing his black jeans, black boots, and a long-sleeved, white button-down shirt.

  Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned and made for the staircase. “Let’s head on out then.”

  Georgia grabbed her purse and followed him.

  ✽✽✽

  A few minutes later they arrived at the funeral home. The parking lot was almost completely full, and Georgia recognized most of the people she saw walking in. Her dad adjusted his cowboy hat and slid out of the car. Georgia got out and looked up at the sky as she shut the door. It was still overcast. She sighed. The sun just wasn’t going to shine today. They walked up to the front steps, and her dad held the door open for her and a few others before he followed them inside.

  The funeral hall lobby was just about as welcoming as one could expect, with soft piano music playing from hidden speakers, mauve carpeting, and cream-colored walls. A stand was set up in the center with a sign-in book.

  “Hey, Sheriff,” said a deep, familiar voice.

  Georgia and her dad turned around to see Duke standing there. It was strange to not see him in his usual white shirt and striped apron. Instead, he w
as dressed in a collared shirt and khakis.

  Georgia’s dad reached his hand out. “Duke. Good to see you."

  Duke smiled flatly. “Wish it weren't under these circumstances,” he responded, shaking his head. “Mornin’, Miss Georgia,” he said, looking over at her.

  Georgia gave him a small smile. “Morning, Duke.”

  “Well, shall we?” Duke asked, looking over to the double door entrance that led into the funeral parlor.

  Her dad nodded and the three of them went in together.

  The parlor was set up with numerous rows of dark wooden chairs on both sides of the center aisle. Up at the front of the room was a stand for the casket, with large bouquets of white lilies on either side. The three of them took their seats on the left side of the aisle four rows back from the front, with Georgia in the middle. Her dad removed his hat, keeping it in his lap. The parlor was almost full, and very soon they would run out of chairs.

  Georgia tucked her hair behind her ear, peeking over her shoulder. A few people were already standing at the back now. Their eyes were downcast with their hands in their pockets as they paid their respects to the family doctor of Willow Creek. Georgia turned back in her seat and looked down at her hands. Dr. Young had been a vital component to the very fabric of this town for so long. It was hard to imagine Willow Creek without him.

  The music suddenly came up, and everyone turned in their seats to watch as the processional started. The officiant led the processional, and Georgia recognized him as the pastor from the First Methodist Church in town. She tried to recall his name, but couldn’t remember. Then the pallbearers followed, carrying the large wooden coffin. All of them appeared to be middle-aged, and they were dressed in traditional Naval uniforms. Georgia guessed they had known Dr. Young from his Navy days. Her eyes traveled down to the coffin they carried. She felt her breathing still as she gazed at the coffin, imagining the corpse of Dr. Young as she remembered it in his Cadillac. She shuddered, and pushed the image out of her mind. She was glad the coffin was closed.

  The pallbearers carried the casket up to the front, setting it on its stand between the white lilies before taking their seats in the front row. Georgia watched them as they solemnly took their seats, wondering what memories they had of Dr. Young in his youth, and if they had been in Vietnam with him.

  Georgia felt her dad and Duke turn in their seats again to look at the center aisle. Georgia followed their gaze, turning in her seat, as well. Between the heads of other people, she caught a glimpse of Dr. Young’s wife, Faye. Growing up, Georgia had seen her a number of times around Willow Creek running errands, but Faye Young mostly kept to herself. Her light brown hair had been pulled back into a low bun, and she wore a black hat with a birdcage veil that shadowed most of her face from view. Georgia leaned forward slightly as they passed by in the center aisle, trying to get a better look, and then she saw him.

  Holding onto his mother’s arm, dressed in a formal Marines uniform was Dr. Young’s son. He was tall, much taller than Dr. Young had been at well over six feet. Dressed in his distinct red-trimmed, midnight blue coat and decorated with a number of badges and medals on the left side of his chest, he was striking. All eyes fell on him as he led his mother to her seat in the front row, and then sat down next to her.

  Georgia stared at him. To say he was handsome was definitely an understatement. Even from her view on the other side of the aisle she could see that from his profile alone he was remarkably good-looking. With his square, chiseled jaw, prominent cheekbones, and distinguished Grecian nose, his features appeared to be carved from bare marble. Georgia gazed at him, unable to tear her eyes away from his face, and wondering how on earth she could ever muster the courage to give this man his father’s suicide note.

  “On this day, we come together to remember Dr. David Young.” The pastor’s booming voice echoed throughout the funeral hall.

  Georgia flinched, caught off guard as he began the service. Her eyes flitted back to Dr. Young’s son. She desperately tried to remember his name, recalling her conversation with Dr. Young in the diner when he had asked if she knew his son.

  “Today we are joined by his wife, Mrs. Faye Young, and their son, Landon,” the pastor went on.

  Georgia internally breathed a sigh of relief. So it was Landon. Landon Young. She looked down at her hands, knowing that if she didn’t keep her eyes focused on something, they would inevitably return to Landon’s profile. She kept her eyes locked on her lap, trying to focus on the pastor’s words, but feeling like her head was swimming as she tried to imagine giving Landon the letter. She looked at her purse in her lap, which suddenly felt as heavy as lead with the letter resting inside.

  Georgia looked up again from her lap to watch the pastor as he stood in front of the coffin, talking about Dr. Young’s many contributions to the town of Willow Creek. But then, she felt something pull her gaze sideways again in the direction of Dr. Young’s family. Biting her lip, Georgia looked across the aisle, peeking out from under her lashes.

  Landon was looking at her. Georgia felt her heart stop, and she held her breath as she looked at him looking at her. His eyes were a piercing steel blue, and Georgia felt suddenly dizzy with him looking at her with such intensity. Just when she thought she might faint, Landon turned to face the front again, seemingly unfazed by what had just happened.

  Georgia felt embarrassed as she looked forward, vowing to never look at Landon’s face again for as long as she sat in this chair. He had probably realized she had been staring at him earlier and grown annoyed, hence why he had given her that severe look, she reasoned. Georgia felt a blush creep into her cheeks as she replayed the scene in her mind. Watching the pastor, she attempted to take her mind off her recent blunder.

  “…Death is not the end, though. No, it is the love that carries us on and into a new beginning. It is the hope that we hold onto, just as we hold onto the memories of those who have gone before us…” the pastor continued.

  Georgia felt her eyes unexpectedly fill with tears as she listened, thinking not of Dr. Young, but of her mom. Reading her mind, her dad reached over and patted her knee. She bit her lip, trying to hold back the tears, but one escaped. She felt the lone tear spill down her right cheek. Quickly wiping it away, she pretended she was smoothing her hair.

  The rest of the service passed by in a blur. Georgia squirmed anxiously in her seat as the pastor made his concluding remarks.

  “On behalf of Dr. Young’s family, I would like to thank everyone for coming today. Please be sure to sign the guest book out in the lobby. Memorials may also be made in Dr. Young’s name, and all proceeds will go towards the support and rehabilitation of veterans.”

  Georgia felt a lump rise in her throat as she thought of Dr. Young’s letter, and his own war that he had struggled with for so many years since his days in Vietnam. She wondered whether it was Dr. Young’s family that had decided to donate to veterans, or if it had been something that Dr. Young had wanted. But then again, how would they have known what his wishes were? Unless he had told someone before his death, it would have been his family’s decision to make a donation like this. It wouldn’t be the most far-fetched idea anyways, with his son in the Marines and Dr. Young having served in the Navy.

  Georgia’s thoughts raced as she thought of all the times she had seen him alone in the diner, and then recalled the odd day she had seen him with that man in the grey suit, carrying a shiny black briefcase.

  Georgia inhaled sharply as she realized then that it had been Dr. Young’s lawyer. They had been going over his will that morning in the booth. She was sure of it. He must be the Mr. Anderson that Dr. Young had mentioned in his letter. She froze as she began to understand what this meant, closing her eyes as the harsh truth dawned upon her.

  Dr. Young didn’t commit suicide in a moment of desperation or despair. He had been planning his death for some time, possibly weeks in advance, potentially even longer. He had actually prepared for his death and arranged for his affai
rs to be in order. He had probably written Landon’s letter weeks ago, and made sure his family was to be looked after before ending his own life.

  Georgia trembled as she digested this revelation, not even noticing the pastor’s exit as he went down the center aisle and out into the lobby. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

  “You okay, Georg?” her dad asked quietly.

  Georgia looked up at him, her eyes moving past his face as she saw Landon help his mother stand up. The pallbearers had come up to the front of the parlor and were taking the coffin away. Georgia swallowed. “I’m fine. Just need some fresh air is all,” she whispered.

  Her dad nodded in understanding.

  The military pallbearers passed by, carrying Dr. Young’s coffin. Remembering her vow to not look at Landon, she looked forward again as he and his mother made their way down the center aisle, following the coffin.

  Georgia felt her dad and Duke stand up on either side of her as the recessional ended. The music came up again, and Georgia could hear people talking quietly to each other, keeping their voices respectfully low. She stood up, holding onto her purse tightly.

  “I’m hopin' I can pay my respects to Mrs. Young,” Duke said as he nodded in the direction of the lobby.

  The hall was packed with people, and they slowly moved towards the exit. As they came out through the double doors and into the lobby, Georgia looked around, hoping that Landon and his mother had already left for the cemetery so that she wouldn’t have to give him the letter. Her eyes scanned the room rapidly, and she soon spotted him. They had taken their places near the opposite wall so that people could file past them on their way out. She saw Landon’s tall figure towering above almost everyone else’s, his sharp uniform standing out. Georgia’s heart sank. She knew what she had to do.

  The three of them lined up in the growing line of people that wished to pay their respects, and waited their turn. As the line shortened and they drew closer to Mrs. Young and Landon, Georgia could feel her anxiety growing, her breathing growing increasingly shallow as they approached the mourning family. She fidgeted with her purse, keeping it unzipped so that she could reach in and grab the letter quickly.