He Rescued a Dog Over My Gran, So I Took His Helicopters novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: The Eulogy

At Gran's service Victoria says 4:17 and 'four minutes' into the microphone, and Beck's lawyer hands her an eviction notice at the reception.

We buried Gran on the twenty-first, in the churchyard where her husband had been waiting for forty years.

The church roof had lost half its shingles to the fire, and the pews smelled like wet ash.

Nobody had arranged it that way, but the front row was full of Hollenbecks.

Beck sat at the aisle in a black suit, with Phyllis next to him and a space left for me.

I walked past the space and sat on the other side of the aisle, alone.

Jude was in the second row on the left, where I had told him to sit.

He did not look up when I passed, but his shoulders came down a little.

Gran's priest read the psalm she had picked years ago, and the congregation said the words with him.

When it was my turn I stood at the microphone with my hands wrapped in white gauze, and I saw how many people had come.

There were neighbors, and Gran's bridge club, and half of the hospice staff.

There were also four people from the company, in their blue Hollenbeck Air jackets, sitting together near the back.

"My Gran raised me from when I was nine," I said.

My voice was steadier than I had expected.

"She taught me how to drive a tractor and how to tell when a person is lying about their pain."

A few people laughed softly, and I waited for it to pass.

"She died on Dutch Ravine Road on the ninth of October at 4:17 in the morning."

The room went still.

"I was holding her. We had been waiting for a helicopter for eight minutes, and it was four minutes away."

Beck lifted his head.

"At 4:13 it turned around."

Somebody in the back row said, "Oh, no."

"I watched it leave on my phone," I said. "And I want everyone here to know that, because I've seen a video of where it went."

Beck was already walking up the aisle.

He had a gentle face on, the one he wore for press conferences.

"Vic," he said into the microphone, with his hand on my back. "Honey. Everyone, I'm so sorry."

The microphone squealed.

"She's been through a terrible thing. She isn't herself. We all love her, and we're going to get her the help she needs."

I felt the heat of his palm through my black dress.

"Take your hand off me," I said.

I said it into the microphone, and the whole church heard.

Beck's hand stayed where it was for one more second.

Then he took it away, and he smiled at the congregation.

"Of course," he said. "Of course, sweetheart."

I stepped down and walked to my seat.

Gran's bridge club, six women in their eighties, turned all together to look at him.

At the reception in the church hall I stood beside the coffee urn and let people hold my elbows.

Sheridan Merriweather found me there.

She wore a plain black dress with a quilted vest over it, and she had cried so much that her eyes were swollen shut.

She did not ask me anything.

She took my wrists, just above the gauze, and held them.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't ask him for that. Victoria, I swear to you, I never asked."

Her hands were shaking.

"Sheridan."

"There's something I need to tell you, and I..."

"There you are," Beck said, from behind her.

He steered her away by the elbow, kindly, and said something low into her ear.

She looked back at me once over her shoulder.

I would remember that look later, but just then I was too tired to understand it.

I stood alone by the urn and counted the people who had not come over to speak to me.

It was most of the Hollenbeck side of the room.

"Mrs. Hollenbeck?"

A man in a gray suit had come up on my left.

It was the lawyer from the kitchen.

"Riordan," I said. "I'm taking my name back."

"Of course." He held out a long cream envelope. "I was asked to give you this today. It's a courtesy."

I took it with both hands, which was the only way I could take anything.

"What is it?"

"Notice of vacating," he said. "Under the settlement you signed, the house stays with Mr. Hollenbeck. You have until Friday."

I looked at the date at the top.

It had been typed two days ago.

"Friday is three days away."

"It's more than the law requires."

"My grandmother was buried an hour ago."

"I understand this is a difficult time," he said, and he nodded politely and walked off to get himself some coffee.

Across the hall, Phyllis was watching me with her hands folded in front of her.

She had not been surprised by that envelope.

She gave me a small, tender, sorry wave.

I crumpled the notice in my fist as far as the bandages would let me.

Then I felt a hand on my shoulder, warm and careful, and I knew by the weight that it was not Beck's.

"Don't go back to that house tonight," Jude said quietly. "Come with me. I'll take you somewhere he can't walk in."

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