West

Then it was over. Everyone but Philip appeared happy, and I forced a smile as they congratulated me. My gaze went to John. He was awake. Nell had propped him up with pillows to see. While the film over his eyes kept him from witnessing it, he still smiled broadly.

The flock of people moved from me to John's bedside, and the preacher immediately began last rites.

I listened to the solemn words spoken softly. The heads of everyone there were bowed while I stood back, struggling to remain afloat, unattached, when I felt like I was getting ready to drown in their world. The harder I tried to pull away from feeling anything, the more difficult it became. I stood perfectly still, afraid of moving for fear of jarring loose the emotions building inside me.

Why did I feel so sad about John? It was more than my soft heart at work. The longing was back, the fervent yet wasted wish to know my own father, combined with the sorrow I still experienced whenever I thought about my parents dying in a plane crash.

Someone took my hand, and I blinked, looking up to see Taylor gazing down at me. He squeezed my hand, attention returning to the bed where John lay. I continued to gaze at him in consternation, not understanding when my purpose here became so complicated.

The rattling of John's breathing slowed and then stopped. His pallor changed quickly from one of life to death, and his features relaxed as he slid into permanent sleep.

Nell stifled a sob, while the others prayed in silence.

I watched, frozen in the place between places, a stranger to this world and the sole person the dead man loved. I owed him more without understanding what exactly my obligation was to a man I had only known for several days.

"Miss Josie, if you would like to say your farewell." The preacher rose and stepped away to make room for me.

I went mechanically, not sure how my body worked when my mind had stopped. Seeing John like this left me cored and empty, no matter how much I told myself he wasn't my real father.

I bent over the frail old man and planted a kiss on his forehead.

"Goodbye, Father. I wish I had known you better." Or at all.

Straightening, I began to think again, to comprehend why the death of a stranger was traumatizing. In saying farewell to him, I was also telling my own father, another man I had never known, goodbye. I was two when he passed, too young to understand what I did now of life and death.