Page 4 of Let the Light Shine Through

I step back, giving her—or me—some space, and nod. “He was.”

A gust of chilled wind whips past, ruffling her brunette hair, and instead of pushing the unruly strands from her face, she leans into the breeze, letting them tease her pale skin. The move strikes me as familiar. Like something I’d do. Like something I do.

Something I did.

“Well, I’m Roz,” I say, sticking my hand out even though I still don’t really understand why she’s here. She doesn’t seem to recognize me and she didn’t know Salvy. Maybe she’s a friend of the family?

But no, that doesn’t check out either, considering she hasn’t so much as waved in Diane’s direction. So far, she’s only been focused on me. Is she here for me?

She hums, giving me a once-over while purposely ignoring my outstretched hand.

“You were lucky.”

My eyebrows clash together. That’s all I’ve been hearing lately. “You’re lucky it wasn’t you.” Really? Because I don’t feel very fucking lucky.

I snatch my hand back and she smirks, bending to pick up her skateboard.

“You had a great friend you loved and trusted…not everybody gets that. And I’m sure he loved you, too. You have a kind heart.”

Her words are…unexpected. She thinks I’m lucky, not because I didn’t die, but because I had someone in my life that meant a hell of a lot more than words condensed into a seven-minute eulogy could ever express.

Fighting past a lump in my throat, I ask, “How do you know that?”

“You’ve had one eye on her the entire time.” She gestures behind me, but I don’t have to look to know who she’s talking about. Diane’s been my main concern since I returned, especially today. I didn’t think it was something a total stranger would notice though. Is she a stranger?

“Her? You don’t know her name?”

“Diane,” she says matter-of-factly, and I breathe a little easier. So she does know the family.

But then she points at the church’s stained glass front, telling me, “At least that’s what they said in there.”

So…

“Why exactly are you here? It’s kind of fucked to crash a funeral, no?”

Her thin shoulders shrug my jacket up to her ears. “This place does a nice job.”

A blizzard couldn’t cover the surprise on my face.

For funerals?

“Do you go to a lot of these?”

“Sometimes.”

She turns for the street, and without hesitation, I follow after her. This I gotta hear.

Over her shoulder, she says, “I’m just saying, I wouldn’t mind if my funeral was held here.”

Again, that’s not what I was expecting to hear.

“Are you planning on dying then?”

She stops to look at me finally, saying, “Not today.”

The board drops to the asphalt, breaking the silence—the silence? my silence?—and I blink, long and hard, considering her words.

When I open my eyes again, she’s already got a foot on the board. She’s leaving. Now. Without me even knowing her name.