"Beverly," his grip slackens and I cower away from him. I've never seen that expression from him before. He's looking at me like he doesn't know who I am.
"What?" I snap.
"Beverly," he whispers as his right hand comes up to my shoulder. Again, I shake him away. "Beverly, what's happened to your eyes?" He looks past me to the rest of the room, "What are all these flowers?"
What? "My eyes? Flowers?" I ask dumbly.
"You're eyes are green. Beverly, what's going on with you?" He's getting frustrated. I don't blame him; there's only so much bad behavior that one can take. "I don't-"
"Mrs Picard?" A voice calls from outside the door. I don't answer. I'm dumbstruck. It's like I'm drunk. I don't move; I don't say anything.
"Yes," Jean Luc answers. We don't open the door; both of us are only clad superficially in our underwear.
"Oh, Mr. Picard," The voice calls. "The wake is starting and we're waiting on Miss Howard, eh Mrs. Picard," he fumbles, "to deliver the eulogy…"
I'm looking at the floor, unable to concentrate on anything but feelings of emptiness and longing for a man, or something, that seems missing from me. "We'll be right there," his deep baritone answers. "Give us a few moments."
I hear footsteps pad away from outside the door. A hand's grip is replaced on my arm, "Beverly," I hear Jean Luc whisper, "We've got to get dressed…" I nod dumbly as he leads me up the stairs.
He doesn't say anything. He simply shrugs on black pants and a white collared shirt. I do the same. The motion is automatic. I don't bother with make up. I don't care about the dark circles under my eyes. No one will say anything. My shirt hangs un-tucked and messy. My hair remains a long curly mess.
"Let's go," he whispers. "We'll finish this later." Before we leave, I feel his hands halt my movement. I choose not to look at him as he tucks in my shirt, his hands diving down into my pants. The movement is rough and if this were any other time, the gesture would be erotic. Right now, though, it's gruff and utilitarian. Moreover, I'm not really focused on him.
/
The room is quite full, I notice. Her coffin is open; I can see it at the head of the chapel. Mourners walk past, tears streaming down their faces. I walk through them, peripherally feeling hands on my back and shoulders while people utter words of comfort. I don't really hear them, though. I'm still focused on Ronin. Where is he? He said he loved Nana; why isn't he here? Doesn't he want to say goodbye?
I approach the large wooden casket, people parting like the red sea. Trepidation takes over as I come close, not quite seeing her yet. And here she is. She looks just like I remember, just with more lines on her face. She's small. Her long grey hair is fixed up on top of her head in a neat bun. An antique cross hands from her neck over her bosom. She looks peaceful with a small smile tugging at the corners of her thin lips. She could almost be sleeping, I notice, and engaged in a fanciful dream.
In the midst of my private moment, I feel eyes burning through me. My focus is torn from Nana to a man standing over to my right. I don't know him and I can't discern the look that he's giving me. It's concern. No, it's terror. He notices my attention to him and he turns away. I brush off the moment, returning my gaze to Nana. I'm about to leave and return to my seat when I notice that everyone in the chapel is seated and looking at me expectantly. It dawns on me that they're expecting a eulogy.
I feel like a kid in a play who hasn't practiced their lines and is now fumbling. I don't know what to say. Think, Beverly, think! I turn and walk to the podium. I saunter slowly up the steps, biding my time and trying to conjure something to say. I turn to the crowd and close my eyes. I clear my throat, "Eh, Nana," I look around nervously. Where is Ronin? "Nana – most of you will remember Nana as a healer. But, uh," I nervously wipe my itching nose, "she was more than that. Often she'd, uh, offer up medicinal teas and sometimes advice that was-" There he is. Ronin. He's here. I stumble down the podium mid sentence as I see him disappear outside the church. "Wait!" I call. Gasps and questions create a worried din as I amble down the aisle of the chapel.
"Beverly!" I hear a familiar voice call after me, but it's no use. I don't stop.
My feet carry me back to the cottage, just a few moments from the chapel. My hand once again manipulates the doorknob and I stumble through into the small foyer. Darkness and the piquant smell of camellias hits me. "Ronin!" I call. "Ronin are you here?"
His tall form again materializes as he walks out from the kitchen. "Beverly," He sighs and quickens his pace as he treads noiselessly over to me. "Beverly," he repeats.
"Where were you this morning?" I ask breathlessly. I feel him take me into his arms. There's not warmth in them, but his presence is soothing. "I look for you. Where did you go?"
He shakes his head and grins, "I'm always with you, Beverly. We're going to be together forever." He looks around over my head towards the window. He seems to sense a movement. "We're going to be joined, Beverly. Would you like that?"
The door crashes open before I can answer to the affirmative, "NO!" A commanding baritone shouts. "Beverly!"