Chapter 6

The organ fell silent as Grant placed his phone beside the memorial laptop.

I watched through the narrow opening between the chapel doors.

My portrait hung above the stage. Vivian stood beneath it in my navy coat, with my founder’s badge above her heart. The worn stitching on the left cuff was the work of my own hands.

Rachel stood beside me with both encrypted drives.

Hundreds of guests lowered their heads. News cameras faced the stage. Lily held a white rose in the front row.

"For seven days, I called every hospital along the coast," Grant said.

"I begged the search teams not to give up."

His voice broke. He waited until a camera moved closer before wiping his eyes.

"Elena left one final request. Today, I intend to honor it."

He started the recording.

My stolen voice filled the chapel.

"Grant, if anything happens to me... please take care of Vivian and Lily. They need you more than I do."

Vivian covered her mouth. Grant held out his hand, and she took it before the recording ended.

Then she walked to the lectern.

A printed copy of Harbor Light’s mission statement waited there.

"No woman should face loss alone," she read.

"No woman should have to beg for the right to rebuild her life."

Those were my words.

Vivian looked toward my portrait.

"Since the accident, I have begged the staff not to move a single thing in Elena’s office. Her chair, her papers, even her nameplate are waiting exactly where she left them."

My nameplate was lying facedown in her trash.

"I am not worthy to take her place," she continued.

"I can only protect what she created."

Grant returned with a small velvet box.

Inside lay the worn brass key my mother had given me when Harbor Light opened its first office.

"Elena carried this for twelve years. It belongs with the woman she trusted to continue her work."

Vivian shook her head.

"I couldn’t."

Her palm was already facing upward.

Grant placed the key in it and kept holding her hand.

"Elena asked me to care for you and Lily," he said.

"Neither of you will ever be alone again."

Lily lowered her eyes to the rose.

Grant faced the directors.

"With their approval, Vivian Hale will serve as acting chair of Harbor Light, effective immediately."

The directors stood. The other guests followed.

Vivian lowered her face, but not before I saw her smile.

Blood had begun to seep through the bandage beneath my borrowed black dress. The hospital bracelet remained around my wrist.

I pushed open the chapel doors.

The hinges groaned through the memorial music.

Faces turned toward me. A woman dropped her program, and my printed photograph landed faceup at my feet.

Grant went still.

His eyes moved first to the laptop that had played the recording.

Vivian pressed one hand over my badge and pushed my mother’s key into her coat pocket.

Then both of them changed.

Grant stepped down from the stage and opened his arms.

"Elena."

Relief flooded his face for the cameras.

"I knew you would come back."

Vivian began to cry.

"Thank God. We prayed for this."

She did not remove my coat or my badge.

I walked past Grant’s open arms.

Each step pulled at the stitches in my leg. The cameras left him and followed me to the stage.

Grant still held the microphone.

I took it from his hand.

His fingers tightened around it for one second. Then he saw the cameras and let go.

I stopped beneath my black-and-white portrait and turned toward the guests.

"If this is my memorial," I said, "why wasn’t I invited?"