Not sure what to do, I called the phone number. It went straight to an automated voice mail. So I texted a quick response.
Who is this?
I stared at my phone screen, waiting for a reply. Nothing happened.
I called the number again. Straight to voice mail.
My heart was pounding now.
I texted again: Please respond.
Again, nothing. No response. I read the text a third time. I’m sorry is what Joe had mouthed to me from inside the minivan after those guys had grabbed him. Whoever had sent the text had repeated it. He’d even said my girls, which was what he always said when talking about Taylor and my daughters at the same time. My whole body was trembling. I kept telling myself that this could not be possible. Joe was dead. We were about to put him to rest in a matter of minutes. And yet everything within me wanted to believe it.
There was a knock at the door. It jarred me back to reality. I went over, cracked it open, found Pastor Larsen standing on the other side.
“Alex, we’re about to get started.”
I nodded. “Okay, I’ll be right out.”
Shutting the door again, I tried to take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I could not go out there and sit next to Taylor in this kind of shape. I had to somehow find a way to calm myself. But how the hell was I supposed to stand up there right now and give Joe’s eulogy?
THIRTY-THREE
My hands were still shaking as I returned to the sanctuary and made my way to the very back of the lobby, where my family had gathered. Inside, the pews were almost all filled. The girls were peeking through the closed doors inside the sanctuary. Carol stood beside us, looking somber. I stepped up to Taylor, who gave me an odd look.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look pale?”
I knew she’d see it all over my face. “Just . . . nervous.”
“You didn’t get this nervous even before big football games.”
“This feels bigger than any football game.”
I tried to take some quick breaths without being too obvious. I thought about the text again. If it really was Joe, where was he? Mexico City? Whose phone was he using? Why not call instead of text? And why no response at all to my returned texts or calls? What the hell was going on?
Taylor reached out and grabbed my hand. She again took a peek over at me. I forced a small smile. Could she feel my fingers shaking? Music was playing inside the sanctuary. Joslin opened the back doors for us. We then followed Carol and the girls into the sanctuary while everyone turned to stare at us with grim faces. Were we about to have a funeral service for a man who was still alive? This felt like an out-of-body experience. I recognized most people in the room from various parts of our personal and professional lives. I did my best to put on a good face. We made it all the way to the front and found our seats in the first row.
After we were seated, the pastor walked onto the stage, stood behind the podium, and warmly welcomed everyone. I couldn’t even focus on his words. My phone was on vibrate. I hadn’t felt any movement from inside my suit jacket but couldn’t be sure. I so badly wanted to reach inside and see if another text had arrived. But I knew I couldn’t do that right now.
Everyone stood, including Taylor, who looked down at me with a furrowed brow. I also stood quickly. We’d been invited to sing a hymn. The lyrics were up on a big a screen behind the podium. I kind of mumbled my lips. In a few moments, I was going to be invited onto the stage to give my speech. How was I going to pull it off? My throat felt so dry. I stared down at Olivia and Nicole, who were both wearing black-and-pink dresses. Olivia was trying to follow some of the words, but Nicole was staring off into space. I had to pull myself together for them. I had to do this for Taylor.
The song ended. Everyone sat. Except for me. Swallowing, I took a step toward the stage. My legs felt rubbery. But I kept going. I moved onto the first step, then the second, and then the third. I glanced to my left, where Pastor Larsen sat off to the side. He gave me a reassuring nod. Before turning to face the audience, I looked up at the big screen. There was a photo of Joe on it, wearing one of his sharp business suits. It looked like it had been taken from when he was still running his law firm with Steve Edmonds. I stared at his face and wanted to yell, What the hell is going on, Joe!?
Turning, I stepped in behind the podium and faced the crowd. Then I reached into my suit jacket and grabbed my notecard.
“Good afternoon,” I began. “My name is Alex Mahan, Joe’s son-in-law. And it is a privilege to be standing in front of you today . . .”
I kept talking, but my mind was wandering. Was my voice shaky? I couldn’t really tell. I went on to talk about the first time I met Joe and how much he made me feel at home. I told a joke about Joe helping me with my golf game. The audience laughed. The more I talked, the more I calmed down. I kept telling myself that I was going to get through this somehow. I started making better eye contact with the crowd and even smiled at people. I made my way down the story list on my notecard. I was almost there.