Love, Death and Skeletons

Leah could not really say Sharré was a close friend-more of an acquaintance really. They saw each other only at church and shared a few good conversations over dinner after a service on Sunday nights. Beyond that they never seemed to get together. Nonetheless, the murder of someone you know is always a shocking blow.

By the time she reached the open coffin, the small country church had emptied. The scattered programs of the funeral service littered the worn-out pews. Dusk-like hours were as haunting as the memories of the friend who now lay lifeless before her.

Leah was fifteen years older than Sharré, a beautiful twenty-year-old island girl. Sharré was young and exotic with Hollywood on her heels. Why the death of a beautiful girl appeared more tragic to the world was a tragedy in itself to Leah. She held her composure as well as she could when reporters, with their microphones and cameras, invaded the quaint steeple church. Sharré would be the highlight on the six o'clock news one more time.

Her bright blue eyes clashed with her reddish-brown hair which only added to her splendor. She smiled with a perfect row of snow-white-teeth and her laughter could fill your darkest days with just enough joy to make you forget your sorrows-even if only for the moment. Sharré had just enough bounce in her walk to make you believe it was real. Honestly, though, who could not have realized she was trying to make you notice the brilliance of her hair. It merely looked like a wig now framing her beautiful eyes, which were permanently shut.

It was ironic how her life had been filled with people who fussed over her day and night: primping her hair, taking her phones calls, and racing back and forth with a fresh cup of coffee or a tall glass of ice water. At the end of it all Sharré died alone in the concrete jungle of a shopping mall. She had coiled herself into a fetal position between a Sebring convertible and a Chevy truck. Nothing like that would have happened on her beloved island where the songs of killer whales lamented and moss decorated stone walls.

The Island Tribune showed off her exquisite face on the front page under the heading, "Slain For Sixty Dollars." Days after her murder, a homeless man who had stabbed her and slashed her face with a paring knife, confessed to the killing. He was sixty dollars richer and facing the death penalty.

Excerpts from Sharré's movie had already been playing repeatedly on every local news channel. There was no closure. After all, she was to be the next great Oscar-winning actress of her time had her life not been cut down so violently.

* * * * * * *

Leah's hands rested on the edge of the plain wooden box. Much more could have been lavished on her funeral.

"She would not have wanted it that way," Pastor Andy Somers had said. He would take care of all the arrangements, much to Hollywood's dismay.

Interesting, Leah thought. Back to her roots, I suppose. She fixed the lace collar around the sagging skin of her friend's neck. No matter how long she fidgeted with the delicate material, however, the dress just didn't fit the way it used to.

Outside Andy Somers' country church, the willow trees cast tall shadows through the stained-glass windows over the pine coffin that held the frailty of a broken body. Leah's trembling fingers touched the long auburn hair of her departed friend and caressed the cold cheeks of death. One stray tear escaped and rolled slowly down her face. She half expected Sharré to wipe it away, and shuddered at the thought.

She held her young friend's thin hand in her own as if still trying to comfort Sharré and send her on her way to the afterlife. Hopefully, she thought, there is a heaven after all.

They had both struggled with their faith which was often the main topic at an occasional Sunday evening dinner conversation. A drink in one hand, a smoke in the other, Sharré challenged anyone who would dare tell her it was a sin. Only Andy Somers' presence would make her stop drinking, though he never said anything against her bad habits. There was something about that man that would make anyone stop smoking, drinking or cursing.

"Must be his eyes," Sharré would say.

"No," Leah said. "That's not it."

"Yes it is. When he looks at you with those hazel eyes, you automatically confess your deepest and darkest secrets. I do all the time." They both laughed out loud, never once minding the curious stares of the other patrons in Rachel's Diner.

It was a great relief for both Leah and Sharré to hear their pastor announce from the pulpit, "It's all right to have doubts about God, you know. He wants you to be real with Him. Ask the tough questions. Read the Book yourself and check out every word I speak. I imagine I could be wrong once in a while."

A very cheeky smile and a twitch of the eyebrow gave the congregation a chance to give their approval with a few hearty amens.

Nonetheless, in the end, Sharré was more confused than anyone. She frowned upon the simple answers Andy gave and refused to believe that God would forgive all she had done.

At the funeral Pastor Somers gave a wonderful speech about how she was safe now and all her questions had been answered. Leah raised an eyebrow. There were more questions now, it seemed, then ever before.

* * * * * * *

Andrew Somers, dressed in his Sunday best - freshly washed jeans, a white long-sleeved cotton shirt, top button undone, with a black tie loosely hanging around his collar - was probably the only reason Sharré kept going to the small Baptist church. He was her safe place, her sanctuary from a world that demanded she look and be perfect.

Rumors flowed from one end of town to the other with as many twists and plots as a bad movie with no credible storyline. Talk was plenty about the two of them, with something new added every day. No one actually had proof, only that Andy and Sharré were seen walking together, quite often, towards the waterfalls in the evening hours.

Leah had followed them once and still felt guilty about it. She didn't know why she spied on the pastor and her friend except to disprove the rumors. It's what she told herself, in any case.

She tried to fix the heavy makeup on Sharré's tanned face. Her disapproval was obvious though she knew it was always done to the dead. Nonetheless, it was a crude attempt at disguising the slash marks Sharré bore from her attack. She hadn't worn much makeup when she was alive. It was something Pastor Somers loved, her natural beauty. At least, that's what he said in the heat of the over-crowded chapel. Of course, he had to take a long pause after he said it, knowing he had probably just added fuel to the gossip.

* * * * * * *

Leah remembered when Andy Somers and Sharré, his young parishioner, had sat side by side on a large, smooth rock embedded in the muddy banks of the falls. On a hot afternoon the spray of the rushing water was a sweet comfort. Leah wondered how many young couples had shared the mysteries of love as their shoulders touched, for the first time, perhaps, upon that very stone where Andy and Sharré had held each other.

She tried not to think of them as lovers. She tried-though on that day she considered it. Andy Somers had stroked the length of that shiny auburn hair and pulled Sharré to his side. His arm was snugly wrapped around her shoulder as the young starlet comfortably leaned on his. Was it a romantic encounter Leah witnessed? She couldn't be sure, but suddenly she felt a wave of jealousy sweep over her.

* * * * * * *

The silhouettes of friends and family melted into one another as the sun prepared to exit on this gathering. No one spoke. Leah looked for Andy Somers' tall, slender and rugged body. There was something about that man that Leah couldn't quite get a handle on.

His pretty-boy looks made his good-boy image a little suspicious. He was thirty-six but looked closer to mid-twenties. There had to be a sordid past in that man's life. Temptation could not have escaped one like him. Of course, every one in town had his or her own version of the pastor's former life. Andy Somers wouldn't say.

Another unusual observation Leah had made: He never had a Bible with him, except when he was behind the old rustic iron music stand he used for a pulpit. Nevertheless, it would be very unwise to pull up a cozy seat next to him if you meant to challenge him in spiritual things. Andy knew the good book from Genesis to Revelation and, without a doubt, lived it too.

Again, jealousy overwhelmed Leah's heart. She loosened her grip on Sharré's hand, not quite realizing she had squeezed so tightly.

"You had everything in life," she whispered. "Did you have to have him too?"

She quickly hushed herself and slapped her hand over her mouth. Not quite believing her thoughts and words. Sheepishly she looked around the empty church. The pews were silent. Dust particles scampered into the last of the sun's rays that struggled through stain glass. Leah tried to hold on to the light in fears it would end even the memory of Sharré. She sighed. A white dove cooed in the rafters, then flew through an open window.

Andy Somers, with the pall-bearers close by, crept into the church and stood behind her. His hand touched the small of her back. She jumped, all of a sudden feeling it was inappropriate for her to stand around the coffin for so long. The pall-bearers looked at her with a slight distaste. They made her feel ugly. Her issues with low self-esteem tightened in the pit of her soul.

She smiled nervously at Andy hoping he would smile back. Any kind of acknowledgement would have sufficed. Nothing. Sharré was on his mind. His hazel eyes flooded with pain and sadness. Even in death she was still center stage. "Don't let me be like this," Leah prayed.

"Be careful," he said with a slight quiver in his voice. Andy's gentle orders startled her for a moment, till she saw them close the coffin. The young men, some strangers from Sharré's Hollywood life, carried her out to the church cemetery beyond the crumbling stone wall. As the funeral procession marched out of time to Sharré's final resting place, Leah slid her hand over the moss-covered stones. Andy Somers watched her. She didn't see.

The next half hour was agonizing. Many words, loving words, were spoken as if Mother Theresa lay within the coffin before them. Leah could only show the whites of her eyeballs in disgust. Who were they speaking of? When Sharré lived only bitter words were spoken by the very ones who now praised her.

Scriptures were read without true conviction and Leah doubted it brought comfort to anyone. Or did they? When Andy Somers read from the book of life (it's what he called it), facades faded, and masks were revealed. Some, whether they meant to or not, nodded in agreement. He didn't try to speak softly or tearfully (as one supposes should be done at funerals) or melodically like a television evangelist. Andy Somers was just himself, which unexpectedly, Leah thought, made him even more appealing than his movie-star looks.

She found herself feeling resentment toward Sharré. "Please, don't let me be like this," she prayed again. A cool breeze made peace with the unsettling feelings of her heart. It whistled through the trees slightly lifting her white skirt around the ankles. She patted the soft chenille and waited for Andy's soothing voice to speak final words of reassurance.

"Today we grieve and we should not have to restrain our grief. We should celebrate Sharré's life as we also openly express our anguish over her death. In the Psalms David said, 'I am like a man without strength. You have taken from me my closest friend . . . my eyes are dim with grief.' God is good. I know it. But life, life right now, is not. We mourn because death is evil, and it stings, and there is nothing positive to say about death. But this is also our chance to honor her, celebrate her strengths, her gifts and her contributions. We cry because the world has lost a gift, and we have lost a friend. We mourn not because we think it is all over, for this is only a part of the story and not the end of it. We mourn because we miss her. By pressing onwards we have a chance to celebrate Sharré's life, by embracing her story within our own, and we move on by continuing to live as she would have us live, in faith and hope and life."

A collective sigh emerged from the largest gathering of any sort the island had ever seen. The young pastor bowed his head and chose to say nothing else. His silence competed with the distant crashing of slumbering waves. Both brought peace.

When he finally walked toward the pine box Andy Somers glided, it seemed, with simple grace. His un-tucked shirt, Sharré's preference, flapped against his stone-washed jeans. All eyes were on him as he placed a single rose on her grave. It was yellow-duly noted by everyone there.

When all was said and done, Leah and Andy remained. Both quiet, a little awkward with one another's company and resisting the urge to say that it didn't feel right to leave her there. He stood, stoic for the most part, at the head of the coffin. She sat on a chair usually reserved for family, her slender legs crossed at the knees and interlocked at the ankles. She looked away whenever she found herself in danger of eye to eye contact.

"Thanks for wearing white," he said. "Black is so depressing. Not at all like her."

"You're most welcome," she said softly. Her acceptance of his love for Sharré brought a strangely pleasing end to a difficult day.

The brilliance of stars crammed the sky above them as if the whole universe took refuge over their island. A continuous ocean breeze played wistfully with her hair, revealing her sun-graced face and sometimes hiding it. In her thirties now, she wished for all the features God had bestowed only on someone like Sharré. Or so she thought. Had she looked a little closer she might have seen that there was love in Andy's eyes.

* * * * * * *

Andy Somers was on his knees now. For the first time since Leah had known him he looked a little lost. He cupped a hand full of dirt and let it slip through his fingers. It sprinkled quietly onto the coffin, many feet below them, disturbing yellow and red petals of the roses that lay on top. There were no more tears. Eventually, Andy rose to his feet and wiped the dirt off his hands adding a patch of brown on his already grass-stained jeans. He locked up the small church and slipped away into the darkness.

Beyond the stone wall of the cemetery he watched a lone figure, Leah's, walk slowly away. He wanted to stop her, but he didn't. He longed to slip his hand into hers, cry within her embrace and stroll to the sweet thunder of the falls. There was no one else he would rather be with, take care of or be taken care by. Andy needed to tell her his darkest secret and deepest hurt. He had lost his best friend, the love of his life--his daughter, Sharré.