Chapter Text
“When Cove and I first moved here, the first people that I met were Winnie Harbors’ mothers, our neighbors across the street. They spoke of their daughter as their biggest pride and joy. And I thought to myself that Winnie would be the perfect buddy for my boy since they were both the same age, so I paid her twenty bucks to be his friend.”
A wistful yet warm collective laugh erupts throughout the chapel. It was a story that everyone in the crowd knew well. No matter how many times Cliff would tell and retell it, it never seemed to get old for some. For others, however, in particular just his son, Cove, the story brought up a mix of painful emotions. He isn’t in the mood to hear it. Not now, not yet. It was the final speech and he had not cried for the whole funeral. He did not need to start crying now when it was already so late.
“A few weeks after we moved, I worried myself sick when I overheard while over at the Harbors’ that Winnie could not keep a secret to save her life. And I saw her face puff up and turn red like she could no longer hold something in. Still, she did. That was the thing about Winnie. Maybe she was a talker and had absolutely no concept of stranger danger, like when I first showed up on her front door and she greeted me with a huge smile, but she never had anything but good intentions. And God, was she a determined one! And maybe four times as outgoing and fun as everyone else before me has already said.”
Pamela and Noelani Harbors wipe their eyes at their neighbor’s words. Beside them sits their earthside daughter, Elizabeth, who has her fists bunched tight at the hem of the dress. Next to her sits Cove. There is a gap to Cove’s right side where his father had been seated. His mother was coming to town soon, but she’d been caught up with work and was unable to make it for the actual service. And it’s fine, Cove thinks. He’s fine with that. As fine as one could be.
“Then five years had passed. I don’t know what it was that prompted Winnie to say something, but she told Cove about the money. I thought at first that it would make my son hate me, but it brought us all closer together. Kyra, Cove, Winnie– We all had a good laugh. And I swore that I could see a thousand pounds of stress just lift off of that girl’s shoulders.”
Cliff chuckles, tinged with sadness. “She was like a daughter to me. I spent almost as much time with her and her family as I did with just my son. I wish that we all could have seen her grow up. She and Cove made a good pair.” He pauses, taking a moment to cover his mouth. “Thank you.” Stepping down from the podium and gingerly tucking his script back into his pocket, Cliff returns to his seat next to Cove who stares blankly ahead as the funeral proceeds.
With the final speech over, the priest walks up to the chancel and taps the microphone. “Let us spend a few moments to reflect on the life of Winifred Harbors and the meaning that she had to each of you. Those of faith may join along in prayer. Regardless of your belief, we will all take a few moments to honor her life and mourn the years that she could have had.” The priest pauses and hesitates, as if troubled in his own way by guiding a service for somebody so young. “Her time, though far shorter than we all had hoped, was not at all lacking in meaning. Spend time talking about Winifred, sharing your memories about her, and taking care of yourselves.”
Cove looks around as others bow their heads and clasp their hands tightly together. Jagged hills of bent arms and little tiny triangles that all of Winnie’s loved ones hunch over in prayer. He turns to the left. He had never seen her mothers pray before. Even Elizabeth has joined in, with a trembling lip and a scrunched face. He turns to the right. He has never seen his own father pray before.
“Our father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name…” Yet Cove cannot bring himself to say it along with everybody else. In shell-shocked silence, he stays staring forwards, his aquamarine eyes wide and deep and blue, though far drier than was usual.
The prayer ends and slowly every bowed head in the church rises again. Cove, who had not allowed his neck to angle an inch, awkwardly waits and watches as everyone returns. “For these last few moments, please feel free to approach the casket and share any final words, gestures, or thoughts with Winnie. Whether you do so in your own words, prayer, or silence, take all the time that you need to say your final goodbyes. Once everyone is ready, we will close the casket and allow her peace and rest.”
Her mothers and sister rise first. Pamela has her arm around Noelani as she comforts her wife who cries silently into a handkerchief so stark white that it is blinding against the rows of black clothes. Whether it is because of the ringing in his ears or the distance back from the casket, Cove finds himself unable to hear what Winnie’s immediate family says to her. He wonders if he would rather not hear anyways.
The three women sit back down and slowly others begin to stand and line up to give their send-offs. Cove stays seated. He mindlessly watches as people step up, say a bit to Winnie, then step down. He doesn’t know how much time passes when his father nudges his shoulder.
“Sport, they’re going to close the casket soon. If you’d like to say goodbye to Winnie–”
But Cove shakes his head. “I don’t,” he stammers, “can’t.” He notices that his father seems a bit surprised, maybe even troubled or disappointed, but Cliff does not pressure his son any further than that.
The final people take their time with Winnie. Once everyone is seated again, the music playing softly over the speakers fades al niente and dissolves into the air.
“Into your hands, merciful Father, we commend our sister Winifred Harbors, who you have called from this world. We ask you to welcome her into your light. We ask you to raise her in eternal peace and glory. We ask you to forgive her worldly sins. Winifred, I commend you to God, who created you with His love. May Christ lead you to freedom.”
“Amen,” everybody ends.
The priest steps up to close the casket. Hand on the smooth wooden rim, he begins to hinge the cap downwards. The hinges creak as it begins to come down.
Cove stands suddenly and stiffly out of his seat. “Wait,” he chokes. “Wait.” He shuffles narrowly out of the pew, past his father who leans back to give him room.
The priest steps back, reopening the casket to how it was. He crosses his hands in front of his body and nods to the frantic young man, gesturing him forth. “Take all the time you need.” And yet, Cove finds that all the time is not enough time.
He leans over Winnie, the minty strands of his hair falling down to frame his distressed face. When he sees her pale body and her relaxed, non-smiling lips, no longer can he hold in his feelings. “You weren’t supposed to go,” Cove sobs. “It was supposed to be us. You picked me, so I picked you, Winnie. Why? Why couldn’t you just stay? Just a little longer. A little more.”
He doesn’t care if others watch. In fact, it is like any embarrassment he had in his system prior up and leaves the second the first tears stream down his tanned cheeks. “Winnie,” he chokes. It is just her name. Nothing else comes out after but the pained cries of a boy who has lost his first everything.
Cove must have been there for a while as his father has to usher him down from the front of the church and back to the benches. He does not push the man away as he may have chosen to do years ago. Instead, he leans into his dad’s arms and sobs muffled cries into his chest.
His eyes may be directed towards the chancel when the priest closes Winnie’s casket for real, but he is not really taking anything that he sees in. The poppies and buttercups adorning the stand flutter in the air as the lid falls down, a soft whoosh and plush bang as it shuts. Cove cries again. He would do anything to hold Winnie’s hand. To show up at her window and roll down the hill behind her house. Just one more time. One last time. To tell her that he’ll see her tomorrow. Just one more time. One last time.
Like a catalyst for the grief of others, Cove’s sadness happens to provoke those around him to cry as well. He does not watch as they bring Winnie away, the procession carrying her down the aisle to her favorite song.
That evening, Winifred Harbors was laid to rest, and Cove Holden cried and cried and cried until he could not cry anymore.