Post by Jen on Apr 26, 2009 21:29:55 GMT -5
September, 1995
Harley Cooper’s eyes were dry as she placed the final rose on the coffin before the minister said one last prayer. She had no tears left, she felt like she had cried non-stop since she got the call four days earlier.
The day had started out like any other, except he went to work while she had the day off. She stayed home that morning to do some cleaning that the house desperately needed. She was cleaning the bathroom, her least-favorite task, when the phone rang. She expected a telemarketer or someone asking her if she knew Jesus. But the phone call turned out to be the last thing she expected. It was their police chief. From the moment he said hello, she knew. His voice was too quiet, too hesitant to be good news. All she heard was that he had been shot. The rest of his phone call was lost on her until a cop showed up at her door a few minutes later to take her to the hospital. He was gone before she got there and she sat beside him in the room for an hour before she could say goodbye and pull herself away. The days since then were a blur – people sending their apologies, phone calls, casseroles, sympathy cards – she nodded and thanked them, let the machine pick up and the casseroles freeze.
Her brother and father were on either side of her, practically holding her up. Aside from the grief, she was exhausted, living the past few days on a few hours of sleep at most.
He was given a hero’s funeral, a flag draped over the coffin and uniformed offers standing by, mourning the loss of their friend and coworker. As Frank and Buzz led her away and back to the car, she took one glance back and felt her heart break in her chest.
Mallet…her friend, her lover, her partner, her everything.
As she stared out the window on the way back to the house, her mind said only one thing…
How was she going to survive without him?
Harley Cooper’s eyes were dry as she placed the final rose on the coffin before the minister said one last prayer. She had no tears left, she felt like she had cried non-stop since she got the call four days earlier.
The day had started out like any other, except he went to work while she had the day off. She stayed home that morning to do some cleaning that the house desperately needed. She was cleaning the bathroom, her least-favorite task, when the phone rang. She expected a telemarketer or someone asking her if she knew Jesus. But the phone call turned out to be the last thing she expected. It was their police chief. From the moment he said hello, she knew. His voice was too quiet, too hesitant to be good news. All she heard was that he had been shot. The rest of his phone call was lost on her until a cop showed up at her door a few minutes later to take her to the hospital. He was gone before she got there and she sat beside him in the room for an hour before she could say goodbye and pull herself away. The days since then were a blur – people sending their apologies, phone calls, casseroles, sympathy cards – she nodded and thanked them, let the machine pick up and the casseroles freeze.
Her brother and father were on either side of her, practically holding her up. Aside from the grief, she was exhausted, living the past few days on a few hours of sleep at most.
He was given a hero’s funeral, a flag draped over the coffin and uniformed offers standing by, mourning the loss of their friend and coworker. As Frank and Buzz led her away and back to the car, she took one glance back and felt her heart break in her chest.
Mallet…her friend, her lover, her partner, her everything.
As she stared out the window on the way back to the house, her mind said only one thing…
How was she going to survive without him?