Beyond Grief

Chapter Five: The Weight of Sundays

Sunday morning crept in with an overcast sky and a hush that felt sacred.

Emily stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the hem of a navy dress that hadn’t seen daylight in months. Her figure had changed. Her face too. She wasn’t the woman who’d worn this last. That woman had been full of laughter and long plans. This woman was quieter, heavier in ways only she could feel.

Behind her, the door creaked.

“You sure about this?” Asher’s voice was soft, uncertain.

She nodded, not looking at him through the mirror. “I need to go. It’s been long enough.”

Asher leaned against the doorway. “Church crowds are… a lot.”

Emily smirked faintly. “You mean judgmental.”

“I mean noisy. And nosy.”

She turned and gave him a look that hovered between amused and sad. “I can handle that.”

“Do you want me to come?”

That gave her pause.

He saw it—the hesitation, the weighing of what it would look like. What it might mean. But in the end, she nodded.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I want you there.”

They drove in silence, the car humming down quiet streets. Asher hadn’t been to church in years. Not since before Ethan’s wedding. Not since guilt made the pews feel like coffins.

When they arrived, heads turned before they even stepped inside.

Emily’s hand slipped instinctively to her belly. She forced her shoulders back, lifted her chin. Asher followed just behind, his presence calm but strong, like a shadow she’d chosen to walk beside her.

Inside, the sanctuary was warm with polished wood and the scent of old hymnals. People greeted her with whispers wrapped in smiles—condolences that sounded like apologies and questions masked as kind curiosity.

“It’s so good to see you again.”

“How far along are you now?”

“We’ve been praying for you.”

And always, always the glance to Asher.

He stayed quiet. Stoic. Watching.

Pastor Merrick spotted them from the front and made his way over. A tall man with kind eyes and too many funerals behind them.

“Emily,” he said gently, wrapping her in a careful hug. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Then he turned to Asher.

“Asher,” he said. “Welcome back. It’s been a long time.”

Asher managed a nod. “Yeah. It has.”

The service began, and they slipped into a back pew, side by side. As the organ played and voices rose around them, Emily closed her eyes.

She didn’t sing.

But she stayed.

----------

The service ended with a final hymn and the shuffle of feet on hardwood floors. Emily stood slowly, one hand pressed to her back as she stretched, wincing slightly.

“You okay?” Asher asked.

“Just stiff. That pew hasn’t changed in thirty years.”

He offered her an arm, and though she hesitated, she took it. They moved toward the exit together, past polite nods and hushed voices. The doors opened, spilling them into the bright gray light of mid-morning.

Outside, the church lawn buzzed with small clusters of people. Kids chased each other near the sidewalk. Old men leaned on canes. And everywhere, eyes.

They all looked. Most smiled. A few waved.

But Emily felt it—the unspoken why is he here? in every glance.

Asher felt it too. He kept his expression unreadable, but his posture shifted, slightly stiffer now, like he was bracing for something.

They made it as far as the car before someone stepped out from the crowd.

“Emily,” came the voice. Sweet. Tight. Too rehearsed.

It was Vanessa Carter—Ethan’s former classmate and a fixture of the church’s social circle. Blonde, perfectly dressed, with a faux-sincere smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Emily turned. “Vanessa.”

Vanessa’s gaze flicked to Asher and then back again, lingering just long enough.

“I just wanted to say how lovely it was to see you again. You look… well.” A pause. “And it’s good you’re not alone. I’m sure Asher’s company has been… comforting.”

The edge in her voice wasn’t sharp, but it was real. Thinly veiled disapproval wrapped in sugary words.

Emily stiffened.

But before she could respond, Asher stepped forward.

“Vanessa, right?” he said, his tone even. “You were at the funeral. Gave a beautiful speech.”

Vanessa blinked. “Yes. I was close to Ethan. We all miss him dearly.”

“We do,” Asher agreed, his gaze steady. “That’s why I’m here. To take care of what he left behind. That includes his vineyard. And Emily.”

The words were clear, deliberate, and unflinching.

Emily glanced at him, heart catching.

Vanessa faltered just enough. “Of course. Well, take care. Both of you.”

She turned with a flick of her hair and disappeared into the murmuring crowd.

Emily exhaled, long and slow. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Asher said. “But I wanted to.”

She gave him a look. Not a smile, not exactly. Something quieter. Something grateful.

“Thank you,” she said.

And for the first time all morning, her voice didn’t tremble.

-----------

The gravel crunched under the tires as they pulled into the driveway.

Emily didn’t move at first.

The car idled in the shade of the maple tree Ethan had planted the summer they got married. Its branches swayed, full and golden-green, casting long, swaying shadows across the hood.

She stared out the window.

Asher turned the key and let the silence settle.

“You okay?” he asked after a beat.

“No,” she said. “But I don’t know if I’m supposed to be.”

He didn’t try to answer. Instead, he sat with her in the quiet.

After a while, she opened the door and stepped out, stretching gently and moving slower than usual. He followed her up the porch steps, past the potted basil Ethan had once forgotten to water for three straight weeks. Somehow, it still thrived.

Inside, the house was warm. Familiar. Too quiet.

Emily slipped off her shoes and dropped her purse on the side table. Then, she turned to Asher.

“You didn’t have to defend me back there.”

“I know.”

“You made it sound like… like we’re more than what we are.”

His brow furrowed. “We’re not pretending.”

“That’s the problem,” she said, stepping closer. “I don’t know what we are.”

Her voice wasn’t angry. It was scared.

“I’m trying to mourn your brother and carry his child and keep this house and somehow keep breathing—and then there’s you. There’s this, whatever this is. And I don’t know how to hold it all at once.”

Asher swallowed hard. “You don’t have to.”

“But I am,” she said, her voice cracking. “And sometimes I feel like I’m betraying him just for looking at you too long.”

Asher stepped forward, close but not touching. “I think about him every day. Every moment I’m near you, he’s still there. I don’t know how to separate that, Em. I don’t think I ever will.”

She closed her eyes. “So what do we do?”

“We keep breathing,” he said. “We keep showing up. And we stop trying to fit this into something neat and acceptable.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and raw.

Then she said, almost a whisper, “You scared Vanessa.”

He cracked a small smile. “She had it coming.”

A breath of laughter escaped her. Brief but real.

She sat down on the couch, resting her hand on her belly, and looked at him like she was seeing him again for the first time.

“You’re not him,” she said softly. “You never were.”

“I know.”

“But maybe that’s not the worst thing.”

Asher sat down beside her, not touching, just there.

Present.

Alive.

----------

The sun had climbed high by the time the phone rang.

Emily stood at the kitchen sink, rinsing a glass, when she heard it buzz across the counter. She dried her hands and picked it up.

Unknown number.

She hesitated, then answered. “Hello?”

“Emily Hayes?” a warm male voice came through, tinged with a familiar local accent.

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“This is Luca Mercier. I—uh—worked with Ethan on the vineyard a while back. He mentioned me?”

Emily’s expression softened. “Yes. He did. I remember.”

“Sorry I didn’t call sooner. Took me a bit to track down your number. I heard about Ethan… I’m sorry. He was a good man.”

“Thank you.”

There was a pause on the line. “I’d like to come by, if that’s alright. I’ve got some notes, things we talked about when he first started the soil work. Might be helpful.”

Emily glanced toward the porch, where Asher sat reading through one of Ethan’s notebooks, a pencil tucked behind his ear.

“That would be great,” she said. “When?”

“I can be there by four. I’ve got the afternoon off.”

“We’ll be here.”

When she hung up, she walked outside.

Asher looked up. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, shielding her eyes from the sun. “That was Luca. He’s coming by today.”

Asher set the notebook down. “That’s good, right?”

“I think so. He said he has notes. Plans, maybe.”

They exchanged a look—part hope, part fear.

By late afternoon, Luca arrived.

He was younger than Emily remembered—mid-thirties, lean, with sun-darkened skin and kind brown eyes. He wore a well-worn flannel shirt and boots that still had vineyard dust on them.

Asher greeted him with a firm handshake. Luca’s grip was steady.

“You must be the brother,” Luca said.

“Asher.”

Luca nodded, then turned to Emily. “You look strong. Tired, but strong.”

“I feel both,” she said honestly.

They led him around the side of the house, through the narrow path between the shed and the early vines. Luca moved through the rows with familiarity, brushing leaves between his fingers, bending to test the soil with his hand.

“Ethan was onto something here,” he said after a while. “The cabernet was just the beginning. He wanted to graft something more unique next season. An old varietal—Maréchal Foch. Hard to get. But it’s a survivor.”

Emily blinked. “I didn’t know that.”

“He kept most of it in his head,” Luca said, smiling sadly. “Didn’t trust computers.”

Asher chuckled softly. “Sounds about right.”

Luca straightened, brushing dirt from his hands. “If you want help, I’m offering it. I’m not cheap—but for Ethan, I’ll cut my rate in half.”

Emily looked to Asher.

He gave a small nod. “We’d be glad to have you.”

Luca smiled. “Then let’s grow something good.

-------------

They were sitting on the back porch when Luca cleared his throat.

“There’s something else,” he said, glancing at Emily. “Something I wasn’t sure about sharing… but it feels right now.”

She sat upright. “What is it?”

Luca pulled out his phone, scrolling for a few seconds, then paused.

“A few weeks before the accident, Ethan left me a voicemail,” he said. “He was rambling, like he often did. Talking vineyard, you, the baby... I kept it. Couldn’t bring myself to delete it.”

Asher stiffened slightly, but said nothing.

Luca held the phone out. “You don’t have to listen. But if you want to, it’s here.”

Emily hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she took it. She tapped the screen.

Ethan’s voice crackled to life, rough but warm.

> “Hey, Luca. Just thinking out loud. The grafting might not work—I’ll probably need to rethink the rootstock. But that’s not why I called, really. I’ve been thinking about Emily. About the baby. And Asher too. Crazy, right? We haven’t spoken in years, but I’ve been wondering... if something ever happened to me—God forbid—I’d want him near them. Asher doesn’t run from things forever. I know him better than that. I think he could help raise something real here. Something lasting. Maybe even help Emily heal in ways I couldn’t. Not because I’m gone—but because sometimes love shows up in the wrong season. That doesn’t make it wrong. Anyway, if I forget to say this later… remind her. Okay? Remind her she doesn’t owe anyone a perfect grief.”

Beep.

Silence followed.

Emily didn’t realize she was crying until the screen blurred.

Asher sat frozen beside her.

“I forgot he could sound so alive,” she whispered.

Luca reached for the phone gently and put it away, giving her space.

“I’ve listened to that message a dozen times,” he said quietly. “But I think it was meant for you.”

She nodded, wiping her cheek.

The words clung to her like sunlight through storm clouds.

You don’t owe anyone a perfect grief.

Asher reached for her hand—slowly, not assuming—and this time, she didn’t pull away.

The evening light dipped gold across the vineyard. The vines rustled softly in the wind.

They sat in silence, all three of them, surrounded by the echoes of a man who had died too soon—but somehow still knew exactly what the living needed to hear.