He was guilt-ridden. There was no other word for it. He had felt so guilty, it burned him from the inside. His face was tear stained, but he was quiet. Reverend Stroup gave a lovely sermon and sniffles could be heard from the crowd that sat within the heart of Arlen First Methodist. Luanne's sobbed hysterically behind him, her faced buried in Lucky's shoulder. Hank looked back at her and gave her a sad smile as Lucky clutched his arm around her tightly. Peggy was after all, the only mother that Luanne truly new, so he understood.
Her casket was a sparkling grey with silver embellishments, a photo of her resting atop the lid. White lilies decorated the pews and hundreds of flowers encircled the alter, sent from friends and family and fellow teachers. He imagined that she would have liked it like that, but then the guilt crept back into his line of sight and all he could see was her face that night after he had admitted to his affair. She was hurt and angry and he should have never let her leave in that state. Her death was entirely his fault and he wasn't sure if he could live life with that on his conscience. He did love his wife. He loved her and appreciated her and never wanted to hurt her or cause her any pain. He shouldn't have become entangled in the emotional train wreck that was he and Scarla's affair, but it was already too late. The damage was done. At first, he had wanted to blame Scarla too, but it was truly his fault and his fault alone. He should have said no and stopped her, but he was too weak. He caved to her and fell in love with her. He would have done anything for her, even leave his wife of 20 years, so he couldn't blame her any more. Hank felt that he was the one that needed to assume the responsibility of all that had happened. If he had never done it, Peggy would still be alive. She would have never left the house that night.
Hank was the only person who knew about the last few hours of her life on that fatal night and if only he could go back he'd drop to his knees and tell her how much she meant to him. But he didn't. He let her go. He let her get into that damned car and drive away that night. He gripped his knee tightly and swallowed back tears that threatened to pour from his face.
Hank looked over at Bobby, whose eyes were glistening with the warm light of the church. He wiped his face on a handkerchief and looked up at Hank. He gave him a squeeze on the shoulder and continued to listen to the words that Reverend Stroup spoke softly and almost melodically. Hank felt terribly cold and empty like the life had been sucked right out of him. There was nothing he could do about anything that had happened except mentally punish himself for existing as a ghost in their marriage for the past few months. Punish himself for everything he had done to her and every time he had thought about Scarla's beautiful face. Every time he had touched her soft skin and kissed her pouted plump mouth, he must pay penance.
Bill touched Hank's shoulder as the sermon ended and the pallbearers lined up to carry her casket to the shimmering black hearse. "Hank, it's time." He whispered pulling Hank from his thoughts of his loathsome behavior. Hank blinked rapidly and stood up, following Bobby to the casket. He ran his fingers across the smooth lid and leaned in, his cheek resting on the cool material. "I'm sorry." And he wept. Quietly. The tears poured down his face as he, his son, his friends and Lucky carried her remains one final time. As he carried the casket to the doors of the church, his eyes fell upon Buck and beside him was Scarla in black, her face covered by a sheer black veil, a large hat atop her head. She peered at him from behind the lace and he cast a harsh glare at her. Her eyes immediately averted to Buck, who had wrapped his arm around her small waist. Remorse devoured Hank once again and the weight of the casket nearly crashed down upon him as their feet hit the stairs. He began to sob loudly
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," He cried as they walked down the stairs. Lucky put his hand on Hank's shoulder to comfort him, but there was no solace in that gesture. The sick feeling still overwhelmed him as they pushed the casket into the belly of the hearse. Hank collapsed at the foot of the church stairs, his knees hitting the concrete with a thud. All he wanted was to wake up from this damned nightmare. He just wanted to wake up and see her beside him again. God, please give him another chance. His hands clasped around his face as the tears flooded his eyes.
"Stand up, son," Came a familiar voice. Hank looked up and saw Mr. Strickland standing over him, his hand resting on Hank's back. "C'mon." Scarla came into view, her face careworn and her eyes telling her every thought without a word said. She reached a hand out and cupped his face tenderly, her knees hitting the ground as well.
"Hank, come on, sweetheart," She whispered, her arms encircling him. "It's going to be ok," She said into his ear. He felt her arm and Mr. Strickland's go underneath his as they hoisted him to his feet.
They had walked this church in marriage and now death.