Later on that night. . .
In a gloomy silence, the Bucket family was preparing for the evening meal, when a light rap was heard on the door. This had them all looking at each other with hopeful expressions on their faces.
Looking at his downhearted son, Mr. Bucket smiled. "Answer it, Charlie." Realizing what he inclined had Charlie smiling.
Getting up he opened the door to find Willy standing there with a tiny grin on his face. "Hi, Charlie. . ."
"Willy!" Before he realized what was happening, Charlie lunged at him until he was hugging at his hip.
Startled, Willy found himself warmly giving Charlie a tight squeeze.
"I'm ok. . ." he whispered as Charlie pulled away and looked up at him, as though not convinced. This had Willy smiling a little more. "Really. . .I am." Gradually he then looked up at the concerned and worried looks on the families faces. Particularly, Mrs. Bucket. "Look. I wanted to apologize for acting all weird, then disappearing. I know you were trying to help. I was just-"
"I know. It's ok. . ." Mrs. Bucket cut off, giving him a warm smile.
Feeling a little more reassured, Willy asked, "So can I come in?"
"Of course. . .Of course." Mr. Bucket replied, as Willy stepped inside and took off his hat.
Giving the grandparents of nod of regard, he blew out a deep breath. "There are some things that I thought you should know. First off. . .in the Will, dad wanted to be cremated. So. . .I've already made the arrangements for that. I've also notified the paper, and decided that we could hold a memorial tomorrow morning in the long common hall of the factory. That way. . .the public could see him one last time. It won't be anything grand. Dad wasn't what you'd call a. . .religious person. So there won't be a service, or anything like that. I'll just have them pass through, pay their respects, and that'll be the end of it." he stated, as they silently nodded. "After, I thought I'd put his ashes in the Chocolate room. I've already got some workers building a monument for him next to the waterfall." He softly replied, as they all looked up at him with sad expressions on their faces. "He loved the waterfall."
Deeply touched, Mr. Bucket nodded with compassion. "Willy. . .I think it's all a great idea. . ."
"Really?" He asked, feeling a little more encouraged.
"Why not? It's a very sweet thing to do." Mrs. Bucket replied, not even aware that she'd made a cliché. But Willy caught it immediately, and smiled. "Yeah. . .it sure is. . ."
It was then that she approached the table with a huge pan of roast beef. Immediately the tantalizing smell hit Willy, actually causing his mouth to water. Glancing up at him with a smile, she set the pan down on the table then turned and headed back for the counter. At the same time, Charlie approached the table setting down a tray of stuffed baked potatoes. Another one of his favorites! Immediately Willy's lack of appetite vanished, and his stomach began to growl loud enough for everyone to hear it. This had his hand going up, as though trying to conceal it. Bashfully grinning, he muttered, "That was a little loud, wasn't it?"
"It often happens when you're hungry. . ." Mrs. Bucket implied, as she took a blueberry pie out of the oven. "You sure you won't stay for dinner?"
Knowing very well that she'd set him up with his favorite foods, Willy knew it was useless to resist. Letting out a small chuckle he surrendered. "Why not." As he made his way to the table he made a motion to Charlie, who eagerly sat next to him. Now his gaze slowly shifted up to Mrs. Bucket, who now sat across the table. "Thanks, mom." He warmly stressed, as a touched expression crept over her face.
"You're welcome, Willy. . ."
After yet another sleepness night, Willy returned to their doorstep the following morning, dressed in a fine black suit, gloves, and top hat. There the families, already dressed in their finest, were waiting for him. From there the group took the great glass elevator, and headed for the focus of all Willy's inner pain. As they drifted toward the common hall Willy cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
"There's gonna be a big turnout today. . ."
Looking from themselves to him, Mr. Bucket nodded, "Yes. I'm sure it'll be very crowded." Barely able to look at them, Willy replied,
"But it won't where I'll be. I just realized that. . .I'm gonna be standing up there by myself."
Catching on to what he was hinting at, Mrs. Bucket glanced down at her son, giving him a nod of approval.
"No, you won't Willy. I'll be with you. . ."
Charlie replied, as a touched expression crept over his face. "You don't mind?"
"Of course not. . ."
"And we won't be any further than the front row. . ." Mrs. Bucket replied, as Willy sighed with some relief.
"I appreciate that. . .really." Giving him a comforting smile, Mr. Bucket gave him a gentle pat on the back.
"Hey. . .That's what friends are for. . ."
From what Willy could make out, the line of spectators stretched as far as the eye could see. Yet he was determined to have it as orderly, and dignified as possible. He hired two dozen Officers to put the people into a single file line. One by one they moved forward until they reached the decorated monument, which consisted of Wilber's urn, and a photograph of him on the side. Once they paid their respects they then nodded both to Willy who, with black goggles over his eyes stiffly nodded in return but displayed no emotion whatsoever, making him look like a pale statue. In the front row, Mrs. Bucket turned to her husband and whispered. "I'm very worried about Willy. It's almost like, he's turned to stone. It isn't normal."
"I think he's still in shock. Whatever the case, everybody handles it in their own way, hun."
"But this was his father. And I know he's heartbroken."
Overhearing the conversation, Grandpa Joe leaned forward and replied, "Just give him time. He knows we're here. And when he's ready, he'll come around."