Chasing Shadows by Valerie Sherrard

I’d secretly made fun of her, even if it was just to myself.
    I’d never stopped, not once, to wonder about her life — what it was like and whether or not she might be lonely or sad. Strangely, as soon as her life was over, that seemed to be the only thing I could think for the next few days. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore.
    â€œDo you think your Great-Aunt Isabel was happy?” I asked Mom when we were on our way home from the last wake session. I don’t know what I expected her to say. I think I was really looking for something to soothe my feelings of guilt. Like, if Isabel had been happy all her life, it didn’t matter if my attitude toward her had been less than loving.
    â€œHappy?” Mom pondered before answering. When she did, she spoke slowly and thoughtfully, like she was telling the answer to herself at the same time. “Why, I suppose she had happy
and
sad moments, like the rest of us.”
    Her reply didn’t exactly satisfy me, but I couldn’t seem to find the words to ask anything else that would tell me what I wanted to know. Or maybe, right then, I realized I didn’t actually want to know how Isabel had lived and what her life had been like. It might be best to put such thoughts out of my head altogether.
    The funeral was the next morning, and once that was over with and she’d disappeared into the ground, it seemed as though Isabel’s whole existence had been pointless. She and her husband, who’d died years and years earlier, hadn’t had any children, so there was no one to carry on in her place, if that’s even what kids do when their parents are gone.
    Greg and his dad, Dr. Taylor, were parked in front of our house when we got home from the graveyard.They’d been at both the funeral and the short burial ceremony, but had left before we did.
    Greg took my hand and squeezed it. We walked silently into the house, behind my folks and his dad, who were talking quietly.
    They’d brought lunch, a big container of homemade soup, along with rolls and raspberry pie. I set the table while the soup warmed on the stove, the smell of it making my stomach growl, though I hadn’t known I was hungry. Dr. Taylor is a psychologist, but he’s also a fantastic cook.
    He and Greg moved here to Little River last summer after Mrs. Taylor died in a fire. Since then, Dr. Taylor has been working on a book, which my mom says is helping him heal from his grief. As I put the last few things on the table I wondered if this whole funeral thing today had brought back a lot of sad memories for him and Greg.
    I didn’t like to ask Greg that, but as we ate, it struck me that the conversation around the table seemed perfectly normal. In fact, you’d never have guessed that we were all gathered after someone’s death, or that anyone there was grieving.
    Afterward, Greg and I cleaned up while our folks visited in the living room. I was wiping off the counter when he asked a question that stopped me in mid-swipe.
    â€œHow’d your friend Nadine make out with the rest of her painting? Did she get the bathroom done?”
    I whirled around, startling him.
    â€œGreg! I’d forgotten all about her,” I exclaimed. “Just before all this happened, Nadine quit her job at The Steak Place.”
    â€œOh, yeah?”
    â€œIt’s very strange, though. We worked together on Saturday night, you know, the same day we painted her place, and then all of a sudden the very next day she quit.”
    â€œMaybe she found a better job.”
    â€œThat’s what Ben said, but I don’t know. It doesn’t
feel
right. Besides, don’t you think she’d have mentioned it if she was looking for work somewhere else? She and I have talked quite a lot since I started working at The Steak Place. Why, she told me about her family and growing up without a dad and her mom’s new husband and all kinds of things. I feel sure if she