by Myra Johnson
And the thought of seeing her again at Mom’s funeral? He hated himself for thinking this, but a part of him hoped Diana would be too busy to come.
* * *
Diana had barely walked in the door at home after dropping off Aunt Jennie at her apartment when her cell phone rang. The display showed an out-of-area phone number but no name, so it couldn’t be Tripp. Probably another of those annoying robocalls. With her suddenly starving cats yowling at her feet, she let the call go to voice mail.
Later, after all the pets were taken care of and she’d warmed some leftovers for her own supper, she listened to the message. When she heard Brooke Willoughby’s voice, her heart plummeted to her toes.
“Hello, Diana. It’s been a long, long time, huh?” Brooke sounded as if she’d been crying. “I’m calling for Tripp because he’s...well, he’s taking this pretty hard. But he said you’d want to know when Mom passed away—the funeral arrangements and such.”
With a sniffle, Brooke reported that their mother had slipped away peacefully in her sleep around eleven that morning. A quick time-difference calculation told Diana she would have been helping her mother sweep up the broken crystal around that time.
“We’re taking Mom home to Austin for the burial,” Brooke’s message continued shakily. “Services will be next Monday. Soon as I hang up, I’ll text you the details.” A pause. “I’m sure you’re worried about Tripp. He’s just...he’s going to need some time. And I really hope you can come to the funeral, because we’d all love to see you again.”
The voice mail ended, and Diana switched over to view the text. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she read the name and address of the church she used to attend with the Willoughby family whenever she visited Tripp back in college. Those had been such happy times, sharing smiles while they sang the worship songs, holding hands as they bowed their heads for prayer. And Peggy Willoughby always planned the most fun Sunday afternoons. She’d have the whole family pitching in to put homemade pizzas together for lunch, or the girls would chat as they chopped salad veggies while the guys went out to the patio to grill steaks. Afterward, sometimes they’d walk to a nearby park and play disc golf, or if it was cold or rainy, they’d gather round the dining room table and play board games until Diana, Brooke and Tripp had to pack up for the drive back to campus.
The memories kept coming, until Diana had soaked several tissues and decided it was time to get practical. First, she called Kimberly and asked her to cover the shop for a couple of days. “I’ll drive over to Austin on Sunday afternoon and probably return sometime Tuesday. Will that work for you?”
“Absolutely. No worries, hon. Got someone lined up to take care of your animals?”
“My teenage neighbor knows the routine. I’m calling her next.” Diana thanked Kimberly and said she’d see her in the morning. A few minutes later, she’d made arrangements for the pets and also reserved a room at the hotel Brooke had mentioned in her text.
Now all she had to do was survive the next few days until she could see Tripp again.
* * *
After the Sunday worship service and a quick bite of lunch with her parents, Diana climbed in her car and headed for Austin. The drive took just over two hours, and by four o’clock, she had checked in to her hotel room and hung her dark navy dress in the closet so the travel wrinkles would hang out.
Sitting on the bed, she stared at her cell phone and pondered giving Tripp a call to let him know she was in town. He’d texted yesterday afternoon, a curt message informing her they were in Austin and staying with church friends.
She’d texted back, Glad you made it safely. See you soon. Praying.
No reply.
She had to assume they were all exhausted beyond imagining, and with burial arrangements still to be finalized, Tripp had plenty on his mind without engaging in chitchat. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and Diana could finally surround him with the love she’d been storing up since he left after Aunt Jennie’s party last Monday night.
For the past twelve years, if she were honest. The bitterness she’d clung to in the beginning, then the couldn’t-care-less pretense that came later, had only masked her true feelings. No matter how staunchly she’d claimed to be over Tripp Willoughby, having him back in her life these past several weeks had proved her wrong. Utterly and completely wrong.
The next morning, after a few bites of the hotel’s complimentary breakfast along with three cups of strong coffee to counteract a virtually sleepless night, Diana dressed for the funeral. She left shortly after nine thirty for the ten o’clock service. The route was so familiar, but there had been a few changes since the last time she’d traveled these streets—a new strip shopping mall, more fast-food restaurants, a business plaza. Across the road from the church, a modern, upscale apartment complex filled what used to be a vacant lot. The church itself had grown, too, a breezeway now connecting the sanctuary to a two-story educational building and gymnasium.
Time hadn’t stopped. Not for the community, not for this church, not for Diana and Tripp. Their feelings for each other had grown and changed, as well. The budding romance of their college years, though unexpectedly cut short, now held the promise of growing into something much deeper and more mature. More lasting, too, Diana prayed. It made her heart flutter to imagine what came next.
Stepping from her car, she strode across the rapidly filling parking lot and joined other mourners on their way into the sanctuary. An usher handed her a memorial bulletin and invited her to sign the guest book. She waited her turn at the stand by the inner doors, then found a seat about halfway to the front.
Sorrow billowed in her chest at the sight of the closed coffin and floral arrangements in front of the altar. Peggy Willoughby’s portrait sat on an easel nearby—soft, brown curls sprinkled with gray framing smiling eyes so much like Tripp’s, it made Diana’s heart clench.
A few minutes before ten, a side door opened to the left of the chancel. The pastor emerged—someone new since Diana had been here last—followed by Brooke and Tripp, their father supported between them. The poor man, thinner and more stooped than Diana recalled, had a dazed look about him. Brooke had changed little. Even her red-rimmed eyes didn’t betray her innate self-assurance, evident in the set of her chin and purposeful steps.
But Tripp—oh, Tripp! Taking in his haggard appearance, Diana nearly started from the pew. Hollow cheeks, dark circles under his eyes and the grim set to his mouth testified to the agony of grief he’d endured these past several days. She wished he’d look her way so that she could silently convey her love and support, but he barely glanced up before taking the front pew with his father and sister.
The service began, and Diana could hardly tear her gaze from the back of Tripp’s head. Though his father wept openly and Brooke dried her eyes several times, Tripp sat stoically, even when Brooke strode to the lectern to say a few words about their mother.
Following the concluding prayers, the pastor invited family and friends to proceed to the cemetery for the graveside service, after which the Willoughbys would receive guests at a luncheon in the fellowship hall. Diana filed out to her car with the others. The cemetery was only a few blocks away, and soon she stood weeping silently on the periphery as the pastor read the Twenty-third Psalm and commended Peggy to her heavenly Father.
Still, Tripp didn’t seem aware of her presence, and before she could approach him, the funeral director whisked him and his father and sister into a limousine for the return to the church. There, at least, Diana hoped to finally have a few minutes to hold and comfort him.
Arriving back at the church parking lot, she followed the other mourners to a large, first-floor room in the new building addition. Tripp and his family stood inside the main doors to receive greetings and accept condolences, and with each step that brought her nearer, Diana’s pulse notched up.
At last, she stood in front of Brooke. Her for
mer roommate gasped in happy surprise and wrapped her in a warm hug. “Diana! I’m so glad you came.”
“Me, too.” Diana’s voice cracked. “I’m so, so sorry about your mom.”
Breaking away, Brooke looped her arm through her father’s. “Dad, here’s Diana.”
Mr. Willoughby’s smile broadened. “How are you, honey? Gracious, you look just the same. I wish—” Tearing up again, he pulled her close for a kiss on the cheek, then whispered, “It made Peggy so happy to know you and Tripp found each other again.”
Unable to speak, Diana merely nodded as Mr. Willoughby handed her off to Tripp. Holding both his hands, she felt suddenly shy as she looked up at him. His lips trembled in the beginnings of a smile that quickly faded. She moved closer to draw him into a comforting embrace but sensed him stiffen before he edged away.
“I, uh...we can talk later,” he murmured, nodding toward the line behind her. “Sorry.”
“Of course.” Diana stepped away. She had no right to feel snubbed, but she couldn’t help it. It felt as if Tripp had just slammed a door in her face.
Brooke reached past her father and Tripp to catch Diana’s arm. “We have a reserved table at the far end. Sit with us, okay?”
“Are you sure?” Diana glanced at Tripp, hoping for his agreement, but he’d turned away to speak with someone else.
“Absolutely,” Brooke said, then added with a meaningful smile, “You’re practically family.”
Brooke’s reassurance restored a measure of Diana’s confidence. Tripp’s detachment had to be grief related. It must have been torture knowing nothing could be done to help his mother, then to witness her rapid decline, to be with her as she breathed her last... Diana couldn’t imagine losing one of her own parents, or even Aunt Jennie, to a lengthy and devastating illness.
With a sobering breath, she crossed to the buffet table. As she filled a plate, a few of the Willoughbys’ old friends recognized her from years gone by and welcomed her back. Their kind words warmed her, especially when they spoke to her as if she, too, had suffered a loss. She truly felt as if she had, because if things did work out between her and Tripp, she’d never get to experience knowing Peggy not just as her boyfriend’s mother but as her cherished mother-in-law.
By the time the receiving line had dwindled and the Willoughbys could get some lunch, Diana had almost finished. Arriving at the table, Tripp faltered as if surprised to see Diana there. With a hesitant smile, he took the chair at her left, and she noticed his plate held little more than a slice of ham and a small serving of green beans. Before she could comment, though, Brooke and her father sat down on Diana’s other side.
“I’m worn out.” Brooke released a muted groan and took a sip of iced tea.
Diana touched Brooke’s arm. “Thanks again for inviting me to sit with you. It’s an honor I wasn’t expecting.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” With a wink, Brooke added, “And don’t tell anyone, but I’m kicking my shoes off under the table.”
“My lips are sealed.”
Tripp and his father both ate in silence—or rather, mostly picked at their food—while Brooke asked Diana all kinds of questions about what she’d been doing since college. Diana couldn’t tell whether her old friend’s chatter was genuine interest or just her way of dealing with grief. Recalling what she knew of Brooke from their college days, probably both.
A sudden motion to her left made her glance at Tripp. A grimace marred his features. Short, moaning breaths slipped between his dry lips as he leaned forward and clutched his abdomen.
Diana swiveled to face him. “Tripp, what is it?”
Eyes squeezed shut, he shook his head. His face had gone deathly pale, and the moans had become one long, keening cry.
Panicking, Diana whirled around to get Brooke’s attention, but she’d already shoved her chair back and was hurrying around to Tripp’s side.
“Hospital,” Tripp gasped. “Now.”
Chapter Twelve
Before Diana realized what was happening, several people had rushed to help. She scooted out of the way as someone Brooke addressed as Dr. Halvorson stepped in. By then, Tripp was doubled over in obvious pain and verging on unconsciousness.
After a brief debate about whether to call for an ambulance, the doctor recommended driving Tripp directly to the emergency room. Two other men came over and, looping Tripp’s arms over their shoulders, walked him out to Brooke’s rental car, parked just outside.
Terrified, Diana hurried after them. She caught Brooke as she climbed in behind the steering wheel. “Where are you taking him? I want to come.”
Brooke named the hospital. “It’s not far. Meet us there.”
By the time Diana got to her own car and brought up the hospital location on her map app, the Willoughbys were a good five minutes ahead. Then she had to deal with traffic and got stuck in the right lane when she needed to make a left turn. When she finally found her way to the parking area outside the emergency room, she was ready to claw through the windshield.
She raced through the double doors and surveyed the busy waiting area. No sign of Brooke, her father or Tripp—and she knew this was the right hospital because she recognized Brooke’s car parked at the drop-off curb.
Her worries skyrocketed. Nobody got seen this quickly in the ER unless it was a life-or-death situation. Dear Lord, please. I can’t lose him now!
Fighting down panic, she approached the check-in desk. “Can you tell me anything about Tripp Willoughby? He would have just been brought in.”
A nurse in aqua scrubs consulted her computer, then raised an eyebrow in Diana’s direction. “Are you family?”
She couldn’t lie. “No. But I’m a close friend. Please, anything—”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait until someone from his immediate family can answer your questions.”
With a reluctant nod, Diana turned away and scanned the room for an empty seat. She found one facing the doors to the treatment rooms and plopped down, hugging her handbag to her chest. How long would it take before someone brought news? Would Brooke even remember Diana was there?
Before she’d finished the thought, the doors opened and Brooke appeared. Diana scrambled to her feet and rushed over. “How is he? What’s happening?”
“They’re prepping him for emergency surgery.” Brooke grasped Diana’s hand. “Come with me to the surgical floor waiting room. Dad’s already gone up.”
“Surgery?” As Brooke hurried them to the elevator, Diana tried to process everything. The only thing that made sense was a ruptured appendix. What else could cause such sudden, excruciating pain?
Brooke jabbed the button for the third floor. “If he wasn’t already hurting so badly, I’d strangle him. I warned him several times this could happen if he didn’t eat right and take better care of himself.”
Recalling Tripp’s recent stomach bug, Diana wondered now if it had actually been the early warning signs. “It’s his appendix, right?”
“Appendix?” Brooke’s mouth dropped open in an incredulous stare. Then, shoulders collapsing, she expelled a noisy breath. “He never told you, did he?”
“What? What didn’t he tell me?”
The elevator doors opened at the third floor. Brooke draped her arm around Diana and marched her through the opening. “Girl, we need to sit down somewhere and have a long, long talk.”
* * *
Had Tripp fallen into an echo chamber? Over the constant ringing in his ears, other sounds seemed amplified by a factor of ten. His eyelids felt like twenty-pound cement blocks. He tried to swallow, but his throat hurt like the worst case of strep ever.
“Tripp? You in there?” His sister’s voice.
Little by little, he pried his eyes open, only to be blinded by a fluorescent light overhead. “Where—” It was all he could push past his raspy vocal chord
s.
“The hospital. You just had surgery for a blockage.” Elbows braced on the side of the bed, Brooke hovered over him. “You could have died, you know. I’m half-tempted to kill you myself, you big, brainless—”
“Brooke.” Their dad appeared at the bedside. “Enough.”
Tripp couldn’t think clearly enough to grasp why he was in so much trouble with his sister, so he decided this was a good time to drift back to sleep.
The next time he opened his eyes, the room lay in darkness. His whole body felt stiff and sore, but when he tried to shift his position, a twinge in his abdomen made him suck in a breath.
Oh, yeah. Surgery...blockage... It was coming back to him now, the recurring belly cramps over the past few weeks, the stabbing pain that grew steadily worse the day of Mom’s funeral.
Mom’s funeral. He sank into his pillow with a moan. The whole day had been one long, painful blur, both physically and emotionally.
And Diana. He remembered sitting next to her in the fellowship hall, right before he collapsed.
Great, just great. By now, Brooke would have told her everything. Tripp’s best intentions of finally being honest with Diana about their breakup, of allowing her the chance to love him for who he was today—forever taken away from him by his own stubborn stupidity.
A brown-skinned man in scrubs pushed a rolling computer terminal into the room and switched on a muted light over the bed. His name tag read James Fessler, RN. “Doing okay, Mr. Willoughby? Any pain?”
Not the kind medicine could relieve. “Just a few twinges.”
