THE SHADOWED ONYX: A DIAMOND ESTATES NOVEL (35 page)

“Oh, we all have. This has been crazy. First Melanie, now all you’ve been through. Oh, and now your grandpa. It’s been a rough year.”

“Yeah. You can say that again.” Joy bit her lip. “So what can I expect?”

Austin furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

How did she come out and ask him this? But they’d been together for so long, she should be able to be honest with him. “Well, I guess what I’m asking is, if I go and come home, what am I coming home to?”

The light dawned on Austin’s face. “Oh. You’re asking me for a commitment.”

“I don’t know. It seems really selfish to ask for some kind of a commitment, but I guess I’m wondering if that’s your intention.”

Austin took her hand. The warmth of his skin sent electric shocks up her arm. Austin knew her better than anyone on earth. If he accepted her. If
he
loved her even knowing her as well as he did, then maybe there was hope for her. But if he rejected her … then …

“Joy, I love you. It’s always been you. I will wait for you. That was always my intention, you know. From the minute we broke up until the minute you pelted my window with rocks, I was waiting for you. And I will continue.”

Joy exhaled in deep relief and nodded. “Me, t—”

He silenced her lips with his finger. “Don’t say it. Don’t make any promises. Let’s just leave with expectation and hope.”

Joy nodded. “Will I see you at the funeral tomorrow?”

Austin shook his head. “If it’s all right, I don’t think so. I want to leave things as they are and let this be our temporary good-bye.”

J
onathan Christianson treasured his children, cherished his grandchildren, and adored his wife. And he served his God.”

Stella dabbed her eyes in the front row, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

“None of us who knew him expected to be sitting here today, but Jonathan Christianson would have told you he was ready. He would have told you, if he had the opportunity, that not a single one of you is guaranteed tomorrow.” Pastor Scott looked out into the crowd of mourners and made eye contact with as many who looked at him. Joy cast her gaze away.

“He would stand up before you right here and now and tell you what Jesus Christ did in his life and that before he died his greatest wish was that every one of you would turn your heart and life over to Jesus as he did.”

The pastor grabbed the corners of his podium and leaned over it. “Jesus is the reason Jonathan Christianson was ready to let go of this flesh, to let go of this world, and enter into eternity.” He took a deep breath and grinned. “I love this next part. Three days ago at ‘time-of-death 3:54,’ February the tenth, Jonathan Christianson came to life. He stood before his Savior and heard those beloved words.” He looked up with the longing evident in his sparkling eyes. “‘Well done, good and faithful servant … Enter into the joy of your Lord.’ And so he did.”

Joy wiped the tears from her cheeks. She could only imagine how Grandpa felt at that moment. Wait. Did that mean she believed that’s how it happened? If it’s real, how could she not want that for herself one day?

“Now,”—Pastor Scott dropped the smile—“how about you? Are you ready to face Jesus Christ today? Are you ready to stand before Him and hear an assessment of your life?”

No way. Joy looked down at her feet. Anywhere but at the pastor. He seemed to see right through her.

“Followers of Christ get to have their life assessed according to what He did. Everyone else has to rest on his or her own deeds and misdeeds. How will you measure up? Consider carefully, because that would have been Jonathan Christianson’s last wish. I promise.”

Joy stood to her feet and shuffled in a line behind her parents, following the casket down the aisle. How many times had Grandpa walked that aisle in his life? She’d always thought he’d watch her walk down this very aisle on her dad’s arm one day.

Only five days before, he’d exited the church down that very same aisle. Had he known? What if he’d carried the knowledge of his impending departure with him for days? Weeks? Months? Would he have done anything differently? Or had he lived with no regrets? Yeah. That was Grandpa. No regrets.

With Silas right by her leg, Joy stood next to her mom on one side and Stella on the other at the snowy graveside while Dad stood with the other men around the casket.

Daddy. His face was drawn, pale. He’d soon be walking away from his rock and his best friend … forever. Would this change him? Maybe he’d try to relax, work less, and be home more. But Joy wouldn’t be there with him.

Grandpa. Her throat clogged as the pastor read from his Bible. Joy would never see him again. He’d never know if she managed to get her life together. The last time he’d seen her, she was shaking her head, telling her parents and Mark that she couldn’t let go. He took the memory of that disappointment to the grave. And Joy had to live with the memory.

Hopefully he could see her now. If Melanie could see her and Grandma had been with her that one night, maybe he could. Then again, maybe it was like Ben said. It was all demonic, and they weren’t real manifestations of the people. If it wasn’t real, then maybe Grandpa couldn’t see. She may never know the truth.

She shook her head. None of it mattered. Her goal had to be that she would meet him one day in eternity. She had to make that happen. She had to find a way.

Stella snaked her hand around Joy’s arm and clutched her fingers. It had to be so difficult for her to stand at the grave of her beloved husband and watch him being buried beside his first wife. How uncomfortable, humiliating, and devastating this day must be for her. She could have fought back and gotten a different gravesite. She was his wife, after all. But thank goodness she hadn’t.

Joy squeezed her hand and put an arm around Mom as the service headed toward a close. Those who wanted to bent to scoop up some dirt and drizzle it on the casket. Joy couldn’t do it.

Pastor Scott raised his eyes toward heaven. “Father, thank You for this life, thank You for Jonathan Christianson, and for allowing him to touch so many countless souls with the truth of Your Gospel. Let each of us live as a legacy to his heart. Let our own hearts continue to beat with the passion he had for knowing You and making You known.” He looked at Joy and caught her gaze before she could glance away. “And if there is one among us who has not surrendered to You, Holy Spirit, in honor of the legacy of Jonathan Christianson, let that heart turn to You.”

Joy’s knees wobbled.

Silas moved in closer and pressed hard against Joy’s leg.

The tug-of-war over her soul raged on. And on.

Church potluck? Really? What a cruel thing to do to a family. Drag them through their darkest moment and then drop them into a party where they were meant to be the hosts. Time was, Joy loved a good party—not anymore. Too much attention, too many expectations.

“Mom?” Joy interrupted the silent drive from the cemetery to the church.

“Hmm?”

“Would you mind if I just jumped out as you passed by the house? I’m not in a very social mood.” That was like saying Paige McNichols had made a buck or two in Hollywood.

Mom whipped around. “What? No! You can’t mean that. Your family needs you…. We need each other. It’s important.”

“Okay, sorry I asked.” Sheesh.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump on you. Honestly, I think we’d all prefer a nap and some quiet today. But this luncheon is an important part of the grieving process.”

Joy nodded. She didn’t see how, but whatever.

“Besides, sweetie. Beatrice needs you there.”

That did it. “Okay. You’re right. How is she?”

“She’s taking it pretty hard. Sue didn’t think she could handle the funeral. But she’ll be at the potluck because we figured it wouldn’t be as sad of an event.”

Total mistake, not that they asked Joy. Bea loved Grandpa and needed closure just like everyone else. They assumed she didn’t understand, but that girl saw more than they realized.

And since when was sad a bad thing? Of course Beatrice would grieve … she already was grieving. And now she was left out, too.

Yeah. She needed Joy.

The car stopped in the church parking lot, and they climbed out.
Just take a deep breath. You’ll be fine, and then it’ll be over
.

People dressed in their Sunday best overflowed the fellowship hall. As the Christiansons arrived they parted like the Red Sea in front of Moses.

Turn polite on autopilot
. Joy plastered a smile on her face. Not too big of a grin—don’t want those people to think she was cold and unfeeling. But big enough they’d think she was poised, mature, and friendly. Perfect. Now where was Bea?

Joy moved in line slowly with her partitioned cardboard plate and can of Dr Pepper. She passed the Jell-O, homemade macaroni salad, store-bought potato salad, and all sorts of one-dish wonders brought in by the church ladies.

She added a small spoonful of whatever, just so people wouldn’t bother her to eat. If she went the rest of her life without someone telling her she needed to eat, she’d be thrilled.

“Bea?” Joy spoke across the table. “Do you need some help?”

“Nope. I’m good.” Beatrice chewed on her tongue as she concentrated on making room for a little bit of everything.

Where was Stella? Joy searched the room. Oh, there, all alone at the table in the center of the room, right where Mom had parked her when they arrived. Poor Stella. She’d been going downhill all day. The songs had long since disappeared, so had her smile. She seemed to have given up trying to be positive.

Would she make it through? Maybe she needed to eat. There was no plate in front of her. Was Mom getting it? Joy looked up and down the buffet line. Nope.

Well, Joy’d just make up the plate in her hand for Stella. She added a roll, pat of butter, little bit of green bean casserole, then took the last two deviled eggs off the serving dish. She could get away with it. They were Stella’s favorite.

“Hey Bea?”

Beatrice looked up with a scowl at being interrupted.

“I’m taking this plate over to Stella. Come sit by me when you’re done, okay?”

Bea’s eyes brightened. “Okay. Save me a seat. I might be a minute—need more eggs.” She held up the empty platter.

Oops. “Okay. No problem.” Joy hurried to Stella and slid into the chair across from her. Joy slid the plate toward her. “Here, eat something.”

“Oh baby, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m hungry or if I’ll ever be hungry.” She dropped her head into her hands. “What have I done?”

Joy rubbed her forearm. “What do you mean? You haven’t done anything. But you have to keep up your strength.” Joy almost chuckled, and she heard the countless concerns voiced by people who’d wanted her to eat over the past few months come from her own mouth. Ironic.

Stella picked up the fork and lifted a bite of green bean casserole to her mouth. Her face showed no emotion.

“There. That’s something. How about some bread?” Joy reached for the roll and lifted the butter with the knife.

“No. No.” Stella batted her hands away. “Help me.” Stella stared down at her plate.

“I’m trying to. Want me to cut up your meat?”

A single tear dripped onto Stella’s egg. “Not what I mean.”

“What then? What can I help with?” Was Stella having a nervous breakdown? Should Joy call a doctor?

“I need help. I need to talk to Pastor Scott. He’s right about it all. I wish I’d never …”

Joy nodded then searched for Silas. He wasn’t there, at least that she could see.

Stella locked eyes with Joy. “I’m scared. Will you get the pastor? Right now. Please hurry.”

Joy saw stark terror in Stella’s eyes. What was she so afraid of? “I’ll be right back.” She stepped back from the table.

Stella groaned. “Never mind. I can’t do it.” She waved with a trembling hand.

Joy stopped midstep. “What? What do you mean?”

“I know you don’t understand. I’m really scared. I need to … I can’t get out.” Stella’s hands shook as they twisted the napkin Joy had set before her.

Oh boy. Joy knew exactly what Stella meant. “Do you want out?” They locked eyes.

Stella closed her eyes for a moment then nodded, her shoulders sagging.

Time to move fast. They needed reinforcements. “Then you stay right here. I’ll be right back.” Joy backed away, her eyes locked on Stella. She looked away and moved toward the pastor who stood on the other side of the room talking with Dad. He would know what to do.

But where was Silas? Where had he taken off to?

Joy looked out on the group of people. Her vision grew fuzzy as new images crowded the old. She sniffed. What was that stench? It was rotten—like the smell in Raven’s room that day—only magnified times one thousand. It smelled like Hell.

Fear gripped Joy as she looked on a room full of oblivious people with a layer of the spirit world draped right over them. A different dimension existing in and among them as they chatted and ate from their foam plates.

Joy was ripped from the present flesh, from existing in that room with them, as one of them, to hovering between the flesh and the spirit and watching both at the same time. Between the real and the spiritual. Or maybe it was all equally real.