Racing Hearts by Beth Smart

Author:Beth Smart [Smart, Beth]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Fisher King Publishing
Published: 2020-03-30T09:43:26+00:00

Chapter Twelve

The ability to procrastinate has always been a skill of mine, today I am fully exercising this ability. The day of the funeral has arrived and to say that I don’t want to deal with it is the understatement of the century. No one enjoys funerals, they are an event that you just have to get through to appreciate a life lost and to move on with the one you still have. Dressed in a lace, knee-length black dress and heels with my hair half up, half down, I drag my feet around the living room, putting off the inevitable. I know Tom is waiting for me in the kitchen, but I need some time to myself to gather my thoughts and emotions in readiness for the inevitable difficulty of today. I make my way around the room perusing the various winner’s photos and trophies displayed on mantle pieces, shelves and walls. I drag my finger over a bronze statue of a galloping horse, brushing the dust off its back. As I ponder, I feel my father’s presence with me. A small feeling of him stood beside me in solidarity and in strength igniting an inner fire within, a simmering flame that would fuel me through this day, letting me know that I would get through this.

I find Tom standing peacefully in the kitchen, back against the wall, head pressed upwards, eyes closed in quiet contemplation. He looks magnificent in his black tailored suit, shoes shined, his soft brown hair styled into place with a small strand escaping onto his forehead. The finishing touch to his outfit is a red and blue striped tie, my dad’s colours. Could this man be any more perfect I think to myself as I take him in, his chest rising and falling slowly as he takes a moment to himself.

‘Hey.’ I announce my presence softly.

‘Hey.’ He replies, opening his eyes slowly and taking a final deep breath. ‘You look stunning.’

‘I was going to say the same to you.’ I glance down at my feet, a little embarrassed, heat rising slightly in my cheeks. I walk to him so that we are standing toe to toe and pick up his tie, ‘I love this,’ I say. ‘Dad would be so proud.’

‘I didn’t just do it for him,’ he answers taking the tie from my fingers and bending down slightly so that we’re eye to eye, ‘I did it for you too. So that everyone can know that I’m all for you and that I always will be.’

His admission chokes me up. I am unable to speak for fear of crying again. I place a hand over my heart and meet his deep blue gaze through my tear-stained eyes in a silent thank you.

‘Come on, we better go.’ He says as he places a tender hand on the small of my back and leads me from the kitchen.

…

The service is beautiful and gives dad a perfect send-off. The fifteenth-century church is partially filled with a carefully selected congregation of dad’s closest friends and old racing contacts.

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