“After all this time?” I said.
“It’s Thomas,” she said. “He died last week.”
Something in me turned cold and hot at the same time.
“The funeral is on Thursday. At St. Mark’s.”
The same church where we were supposed to be married.
“I hope you’ll come, Eleanor,” she said. “I really want you to be there.”
The church looked the same.
I couldn’t help thinking that I’d been standing at the altar in white the last time I came here for Thomas. Now, I was sitting in the back wearing black.
The service was brief.
When it ended, I stood near the casket after the church emptied.
I did not touch it. I only stared at the polished wood and thought: so this is what is left of a person who once held my whole future in his hands.
“Eleanor.”
Carol stood behind me, small and stooped.
“How are you doing?” she asked.
I laughed.
“How am I doing? Thomas left me standing at the altar in this same church 53 years ago. Your whole family disappeared afterward. I’m wondering why you even asked me to come.”
She looked down. “We didn’t know what else to do.”
“Do not give me that. Not today.”
She leaned closer and whispered, “You have no idea what actually happened back then. Thomas never intended to leave you.”
I stared at her. “What do you mean?”
