It seemed as if the heat wave would never end. Sandra Meld hadn’t intended to deceive the Averys about the lack of air-conditioning; she simply hadn’t thought about it. As the sun rose once again into a hazy sky, she had mixed feelings about her omission: part regret, part sly hope that the lack of warning would increase the turnout. By two o’clock the temperature was ninety-eight degrees and the relative humidity fifty percent. Four large fans in the corners of the nave moved the air as far as ten feet from where they stood. The church filled from the corners in. A few dozen early birds felt a breeze while the rest sweated ineffectively.

Calvin and Father Conley wanted to arrive at the last moment to escape attention. Their plan almost backfired. No parking spaces remained within two blocks. As they slid, drenched and barely in time, into one of the few pews not already full, Father Conley apologized to his neighbor. With interest he noted that the man, though a generation younger, was as big as he. He wondered if the faithful seated behind them, seeing the two heads so much higher than the others, would assume they were related. He hoped he wouldn’t have to identify himself.

As he looked about, he saw that the church was packed with young people. Schoolmates probably. In the front row, the principal mourners sat right of the center aisle. Two couples in their forties, one of whom were sure to be the parents. An elderly couple and an elderly woman. A teenage girl and boy, maybe siblings or close friends of the deceased. Father Conley hoped some of the group were not family. They’d be easier for Calvin to approach.

Left of the aisle sat a woman in a minister’s robe, her shoulders barely clearing the back of the pew. Father Conley noted her sex with interest and a secret approval. Too bad the Catholic Church persisted in wasting half its human resources. He had known many a woman who’d have made a first-class priest. He sighed and consulted the order of service: The Reverend Sandra Meld, Minister. A possible conduit for Calvin. On his left, Calvin sat motionless and afraid, waiting for someone or something to show him the way. It was today or never.

At five minutes past two, the organist stopped playing. The minister went to the pulpit. She looked down on the assemblage, and conversation ceased as if swept away by her gaze. The four fans, like an honor guard trained to stand at attention no matter what, alone refused to be silenced. Mrs. Meld read the opening words, which spoke of the transience of individual life and the re-creation of other life to take its place. Sounds of sobbing erupted from several places. What a marvelous contralto voice, Father Conley thought. Why must our services be denied such beauty? Calvin wondered, is she someone I can speak with?

There followed a hymn, “The Earth Is Home,” and then the minister spoke again.

“Dear friends. Surely the presence of so many of you, almost more than this church can hold, speaks volumes for the love that continues to envelop Eden Avery . We are gathered here to remember Eden, to pay tribute to our loved one. To celebrate the life that was taken from her, and from all of us, far too soon. There are those among you who knew her all her life; those who enjoyed her precious friendship for a few years; and maybe some who, like me, learned to know her too late. I ask each of you to spend a minute looking inward, reflecting on how your life has been enriched by hers. If those reflections make you value your own life all the more, then nurture those thoughts, for they are Eden’s gift to you.”

Another silence descended, punctuated by weeping and blowing of noses.

“Let us sing hymn seventy-three, ‘I Cannot Think of Them as Dead.’” As the group sang,

“ . . . And still their silent ministry within my heart has place,

As when on earth they walked with me and met me face to face.

Their lives are made forever mine; what they to me have been

Has left henceforth its seal and sign engraven deep within,”

Calvin felt a knot forming in his stomach. The Rev. Meld reviewed the highlights of Eden’s life: her birth into a family that took learning for granted; her attraction to nature that defied the constrictions of the school curriculum; her skill as an ice skater. She recounted Eden’s fight for her life when she was twelve, and again at sixteen. “Who among us has been challenged even once? . . . But death would not be defied a third time. We all lose in the end, but the legacy of courage Eden leaves behind must touch every one of us. Let us thank her for that gift too.”

Calvin’s eyes glazed over. Rheumatic fever couldn’t kill her; Bicillin couldn’t kill her; no, that mission required the special skills of Doctor Calvin McCrae. He bent forward till his head was almost on his knees. “Is he OK?” came a voice from Father Conley’s right. It belonged to the large man. Father Conley turned to him. “Son, how can anybody at this service be OK?”

“Is ― was ― he a friend of hers?”

“Indirectly connected. He’s taking it hard. Thanks for asking.”

“I know that many of you are Eden’s good friends from school,” the minister was saying. “It would surely comfort her to know of your presence here. But you have brought more than your presence. On your behalf, a group of your classmates have asked to pay a vocal tribute.”

The group retrieved an electric guitar, a violin, and a cello from the transept and took up station. Their selection was a Beatles favorite, “She’s Leaving Home.” As she reached the words, “standing alone at the top of the stairs she breaks down and cries to her husband, ‘Daddy, our baby is gone,’” the singer herself broke down, as did countless listeners. The song was never completed. Arms around each other, the group sat down and cried. The effect was paralyzing.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” The minister fought to regain her composure. “Music touches us in ways that words alone can’t. And I can’t imagine a more fitting prelude to the voices of people who had a special bond with Eden. Debbie, would you speak first?”

As the minister sat down, the girl seated with the mourners rose slowly and turned to face the audience. Before she could speak, Mrs. Meld motioned her to the pulpit. Calvin studied her: A slender girl Eden’s age, frizzy light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, wearing a dark blue dress whose only concession to the heat was that the sleeves ended just below the elbows. Even at that distance, he could tell she had been crying.

“I’m Debbie Rabin. Edie and I were best friends since we were second-graders together. Neither our religious difference nor that terrible illness, which separated us at school, could ever affect our friendship. To me she was like a beloved sister. I think real friends influence young people almost as much as parents do, and I would not be who I am except for Edie. I’m thankful for the years I had with her, and I shall never understand why she had to be taken from me.” Debbie broke down and wept again. One of the couples in the mourners’ pew split so she could sit between them, and both put their arms around her shoulders to comfort her.

Now the boy who had been sitting next to Debbie rose and went to the pulpit. Although he was considerably taller and his hair darker, Calvin could tell from their features that they were related. He also noted that the large man on Father Conley’s other side was leaning forward. His fists were clenched with thumbs up, as though he were cheering the speaker on.

“I’m Joshua Rabin,” began the young man. “The person whose life we’re celebrating here was my girlfriend. What that means on the inside ― what such a friendship does to a person ― I can’t explain to anyone who doesn’t already know. If you’ve had the experience, you don’t need an explanation. Debbie, who just spoke, is my sister, and I had known Eden as long as she. For most of those years I was the brother of a friend, nothing more. We didn’t meet ready made. We were two trees growing side by side, indifferent to what our neighbor would mean to us one day. Then the sun came out, and in reaching for its light our branches became entwined. From that moment we knew we were striving for the same thing. This thing is not something you compete for, because the more you seek it the more there is. The supply is inexhaustible for those who want it. I was not ready for it, not ready for Eden, until I found who I am, until I opened my eyes and my soul and let love enter. The world is a place of immeasurable beauty. By chance or divine intervention, I don’t know which, our separate paths converged in a magic moment of recognition, where we saw simultaneously the beauty of the world and each other’s enchantment with it. We recognized it looking at the night sky and marveling at the immensity of time and space; we recognized it looking at the autumn leaves in their breathtaking colors; we recognized it walking in the woods and listening to total silence. The more we shared in witnessing beauty, the closer we became; and the closer I was to Eden, the closer I felt to the world. Mrs. Meld has made reference twice to Eden’s gift to us; this was her gift to me. I would gladly have shared the rest of my life with her, loving her and together with her loving the world.

“Eden was stricken almost five years ago with an illness that damaged her heart. The events that befell her after that, including the one that killed her,” he paused, “were mishaps in the effort to keep the damage from getting worse. It has been said that she should not have died, that she need not have died. It is true, a person like her should not die. She had too much to give, and her death has left all of us, and me in particular, so much the poorer. But let us not be angry. Eden once said to me, ‘I can’t imagine how a person who truly loves another, who feels the ecstasy of loving, can hate anyone.’ That is Eden’s most precious gift of all.”

Joshua stepped down. The two middle-aged couples and Debbie rose. Each gave him a lingering embrace before he sat down between his mother and his sister. Ever so slowly, Mrs. Meld faced the audience. The silence was broken by the roll of thunder, coming in through the open church doors, accompanied by a gust of cool air. Soon the downpour was clearly audible. Relief spread through the sanctuary. It occurred to Father Conley that the life-sustaining rains, at last breaking the oppressive heat wave, symbolized the outpouring of emotion they had just witnessed. Joshua’s words had cleansed the wounds of all of them, and life would go on.

“Excuse me, please,” came the sudden request from Father Conley’s right, and his large neighbor made his way to the aisle. As Mrs. Meld nodded her assent, he went to the pulpit.

“I’m Roger Mack. I was a classmate of Josh Rabin’s at Central. I never got to know Eden that well, but I do know Josh, and I knew how he felt about her. I remember teasing her, and how Josh came to her defense. Now I feel sorry for making fun. She must have been a very special girl, because Josh is a very special guy.” He turned to the group in the front row. “I only wish I could do something more than just be here.” He stepped down and walked over to the mourners, shook the hands of the adults, and embraced Debbie and Josh.

There were no more speakers. “Our closing hymn is one hundred forty-two, “Immortal Love.” Let us stand and sing.” During the last verse, she led the mourners to the door of the sanctuary. “Let us hold hands with our neighbors. Let us accept the legacy this beautiful person left to us. Let our lives be governed by love, for one another and for the world. Amen.”

The crowd began to file out, and right away a bottleneck formed at the receiving line. Father Conley and Calvin, temporarily stuck in their pew, waited for a chance to step into the aisle. Father Conley turned to Roger Mack and said, “That was a very touching tribute by the boyfriend. I’m sure your support means a lot to him. Where do you go to college?”

“Western Reserve. Josh’s at Cornell. Eden would’ve been a senior at Central next year.”

“Did they live close to each other?”

“The Rabins are on McCallum Street. Can’t be far to the Averys. The girls hung out a lot together.” Mack’s willingness to talk suited Father Conley very well. As they entered the aisle, Calvin scanned the crowd. To his relief, and surprise, he did not see Rick Harmon. The Averys accepted his hand with looks so subtle that nobody could guess the relationship between them.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Can you come up for a minute?” Father Conley asked when they got back to St. Mary’s. They sat in the priest’s office. “It was hard to sit there,” Calvin said. “So much mourning, so many tears, and here I am, the cause of it all, right in their midst, unrecognizable, like a spy.”

“This is the first step in your journey, and it won’t get easier. You’re going to suffer along with them, identifying your grief with theirs. Peace will come to you only when it comes to them. That is your penance.” He went on. “A beautiful service. So unbound by ritual ― and I hope the bishop doesn’t have his ear to the wall. So personal, so human, and, well, so honest. Those people said exactly what they meant. They wanted to be there; just look at the numbers crowding in there in that awful heat. And that boyfriend. He’s your man. A godsend.”

“I’d thought about the minister, possibly.”

“So had I. But did you hear what the boyfriend said? ‘Let us not be angry.’ And obviously he’s more than acceptable to the parents. The perfect bridge. Now you’ll have to find out whether it’ll carry your weight. But you’re a lucky man, son. You’ve got God on your side. He’s showing you the way. Follow it.”

Calvin looked at the floor. “Thank you, Father. Just knowing what I have to do makes me feel better. Now I have to find Joshua Rabin. I wonder how many Rabins there are.”

“Try McCallum Street.” He took a moment to enjoy Calvin’s expression. “Loose talk in a public place. The kind your lawyers warn you against.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The last of Eden’s friends had left and the church was empty. The Rabins were waiting in their car. Alan turned to Sandra Meld. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Meld. It was a beautiful service. I couldn’t imagine anything more appropriate. Edie would have appreciated it.”

“I’m glad I could help. If you ever feel like attending one of our regular Sunday services, you’ll be most welcome. No pressure. You’ll meet friendly people, that’s all. But wasn’t Joshua’s tribute wonderful? I do wish I’d known Eden. It must have been a joy to see them together.”

“I feel so guilty,” Karen said. Hearing echoes of Esther’s words in Sandra’s, she felt even more so. “I tried to discourage Edie from getting serious. I thought she was too young, that she might do foolish things and ruin her chances for a career. Luckily she didn’t pay much attention.” A rueful smile crossed her face.

Sandra placed a hand on her arm. “It’s natural for a mother to worry, so don’t feel guilty. And rejoice that she kept faith with her feelings. They knew how enriching their friendship was. And it doesn’t end with Eden’s death.  She’s given him the experience of loving, a gift that’ll last a lifetime, and whoever becomes his wife will benefit from it.”

They said goodbye and the Averys hurried to their car, noticing that the rain had stopped. With the Rabins following, they drove to Felipe’s Restaurant for dinner. The air was cool after the thunderstorm and, the hour being early, the proprietor accommodated their wish to have a table for six set up on the patio. Karen turned to Josh with tears in her eyes.

“Josh, your tribute to Edie was so wonderful. I want to thank you for being her friend. You talked about what she’d given you. You must have given her something priceless too. I’m sorry if I stood in your way. You were good for each other; I see that now.”

“I never felt you were standing in our way, Mrs. Avery. And I want to thank both of you, and you too, Debbie, and all the circumstances that made it possible for us to meet.”

“Yes, Debbie,” Karen said, “we all owe you a big debt. You were her best friend all along, and you, Esther and Max, were always so kind. We can never thank you enough.”

“Isn’t it amazing,” Max said, “how a person influences others using only the power of friendship? And it isn’t till she leaves us that we realize what she’s added to our lives. We should all learn to appreciate each other more, not to take what we have for granted.”

Esther looked fondly at her husband; Alan studied his iced tea.

“I guess you’ll be going back to Ithaca?” Alan asked Josh.

“Not for a while. I feel the need for some family closeness. It’s going to be very lonely up there. Maybe later in the summer.”

“It would be good for us too if you stayed awhile, Josh,” said Esther.

“And if you feel like you need something to fill the time, you could help in the lab,” Max said. “I’m sure I could work it out with management.”

“How about Professor Ellsworth and your summer project?” Esther asked.

“I already talked with him. He’s been very understanding. Says I can take as much time as I need, and if the project isn’t completed, I can continue during the fall term.”

“Then stay,” Debbie said, putting her head on his shoulder. “I need you too.”

Karen and Alan watched their uninhibited affection with envy. They, the bereaved, were struggling, each with their own complicated issues, unable to reach out to the other.

~~~~~~~~~~

Fortunately for the lawyers who anticipated being called on to defend the hospital, they could do most of their planning without Calvin McCrae. Had they known Calvin’s state of mind, they might well have despaired of his help. He was not interested. In place of the legal process, he had generated a process all his own, and it had no place for lawyers. It also had no rules or precedent to guide him. He did not know where he was going, far less how he would get there. Out of his talk with Father Conley had emerged a foggy concept of the Averys reconciled to their loss with his help. But what did reconciliation mean? What would the Averys say, from which it could be inferred that they were reconciled to the loss of their daughter? How would he recognize that state? In short, what was he talking about?

Without a tangible goal, he welcomed whatever clues and suggestions fell in his path. As he left Father Conley’s office, his mood was brightened by the prospect of an intermediary in the person of Joshua Rabin. Still, all he had to look forward to was his own outreach, with no idea what might come of it. It was a fragile base on which to build optimism.

At the same time, his parents had their own concerns about his future, not to mention its corollaries for them. His father, a construction foreman, took pride in Calvin, the first in three generations of Irish-Americans to rise to graduate-school education. His success had raised the standing of the family in the community. And typical of those risen to unaccustomed status, Eugene McCrae felt insecure. He had no experience to help him predict the likely consequences of Calvin’s misadventure. But his anxieties had little in common with Calvin’s. While Eugene was having nightmares about the family’s disgrace, Calvin was fighting for his survival. He had told his parents what happened but not what he was suffering. Memories of past blunders, for which he felt they had never quite forgiven him, got in the way. At supper that evening, bowing his head as his father said grace, his mind was on how to make contact with Josh. So engrossed was he that he forgot to raise his head when grace was finished.

“Calvin,” Marie said, trying to keep a straight face, “supper is served.”

“Oh, sorry, Ma,” Calvin said, his head jerking up. He began to eat.

“Tell us about the service,” Eugene said. “Was there a big crowd?”

“It was packed. Mostly people her age. One group sang a Beatles song.”

Marie looked perplexed. “How about the service itself? What did it consist of?”

Calvin produced a copy of the order of service and passed it across the table. “The eulogies were wonderful. The minister cried along with everybody else.”

“Cried? Never saw a priest cry,” Eugene said.

“It was a woman, not a priest. I guess their rules are different from ours.”

“What denomination did you say it was?”

“Unitarian Universalist. They don’t worship God, that’s about all I know.”

“Well, who do they worship?” Eugene asked.

“I don’t know. The minister’s name is on the program. She could tell you, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know as I’d want to ask a female minister. It’s like condoning the practice.”

“Maybe,” Marie said, “it’s OK in that church. What’s right for Catholics doesn’t have to be right for Uni ― what did you say it was?”

“Unitarian Universalist.”

“OK. Whatever. Anyway, we can’t have women priests in our church.”

“We have too few nuns as it is,” Eugene said, giving strength to his wife’s argument. “If they go running off to become priests, we won’t have any at all.”

“You should have heard the eulogies, especially her boyfriend. He was magnificent. He must really have loved that girl.” Calvin’s voice broke.

“Didn’t you tell us she was seventeen?” Marie asked. “That’s young to be so serious. Going steady, OK. But announcing it in church sounds almost like an engagement.”

“I don’t know what anything means in that church,” Eugene said.

Calvin shrugged. “I don’t think they were engaged. But it sounded very genuine to me.”

“Did you offer your condolences to the parents?”

“Yes. I couldn’t get out of it. We all had to pass that line. I’m not sure her mother really wanted to give me her hand, but she had the grace not to refuse.”

Marie looked at him searchingly for a moment. “Calvin, maybe I shouldn’t be asking this. It must have been very hard for you. Why did you go?”

His father stopped chewing and fixed his eyes on Calvin as he awaited the answer. Calvin turned a pained expression on his mother.

“Ma, I had to. I just had to.” He shook his head and his voice broke as he said it. She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Eugene was silent for a while, then said, “You did the right thing, son. I’m proud of you.”