Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 9

Nine

T ristan sat in the New York funeral home, the overpowering scent of flowers filling his nostrils, a stark reminder of the somber occasion. The room was filled with the muted whispers of mourners and the soft rustle of black fabric. Seated in the front row with his mother, brother and two sisters, grief pressed down on him. His father, Richard Blackwell, lay in a handsome casket before them, the finality of death stark and undeniable.

He greeted family and friends with a forced smile, each condolence a fresh stab to his aching heart. The small comfort of having made it home in time to see his dad before he died was overshadowed by the years of guilt for staying away from Manhattan for so long. Now, he was back under the worst of circumstances.

As the day wore on, Tristan found himself cornered by Dr. Conrad Altman, an old family friend with kind eyes and a serious demeanor. The older man rested a hand on Tristan’s shoulder, drawing him aside with a gentle but firm grip.

"Tristan," Dr. Altman began, his voice low and laden with a mixture of sorrow and earnestness, "I’ve been thinking. With your father gone, there’s a void in this community. Have you ever considered creating an institute here in New York? Something to honor his legacy?"

Tristan blinked, the question pulling him from his fog of grief. "An institute here?" he repeated, struggling to process the idea. "I’m honored by the suggestion, really, but my work is in South Dakota at the Blackwell Institute... It’s where I feel I can help people the most. I am able to oversee the treatment of physical and emotional trauma there. It’s what Dad always supported me in doing."

His mother, overhearing the conversation, stepped closer. Her eyes were red-rimmed but alert. "Tristan, your father loved giving back to this city. It was his home, his life. Maybe this is something worth considering."

His younger sister, Claire, chimed in, her voice soft but insistent, "It would be a way to keep his memory alive, Tristan. Dad always worked to help people. He was so proud of the work you’ve done in Waverly County, but maybe now it’s time to bring that passion back home."

Tristan looked from Dr. Altman to his mother and sisters. He took a deep breath, struggling to articulate his feelings. "I don’t know if I’m ready for something like that. My work in Waverly County is very important to me. Like Dad felt about New York, South Dakota is where I feel I can make the biggest difference. The patients there come from all over the United States; the struggles they face with trauma... I feel like that's where I belong. And Dad loved South Dakota too."

His older sister, Amelia, placed a hand on his arm, her grip firm. "Dad would want that. Maybe a framework for James, Amelia, and me to follow here would satisfy everyone.”

James walked over. “We’re here to say our goodbyes to our father, not to burden Tristan. Can’t it be about that only? Is it any wonder why Tristan lives in South Dakota?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Bro.”

Tristan nodded at him, noting his brother’s uptight tone. Was it just grief?

Dr. Altman nodded, his expression earnest. "Your father was a great man, Tristan. He believed in you, in the difference you make. Maybe giving your sisters a framework is your chance to honor that belief, to continue his legacy in a way that will make a lasting impact."

Tristan felt their words settle over him like a heavy shroud. He glanced at his father’s casket, which held the man who shaped him, instilling in him the values he now held dear. The pain of loss was raw and visceral.

"I’m honored by the idea," he said finally, his voice cracking with emotion. "The work I do at the Blackwell Institute and in the emergency department is so important. Dad was my number one supporter in that. I think he would want me to continue that work. I will consider the idea of the framework once I get back and have some time to put things in perspective."

Millicent reached out, wrapping her arms around him. "We understand, Tristan. Just know that, whatever you decide, we respect your choice."

As the family gathered around him, Tristan felt gratitude. The idea of an institute in New York was touching. But his commitment to the Blackwell Institute, to treating trauma, and now his commitment to Sophie were all unwavering.

* * *

In the quiet of his father's study, Tristan sat with his brother, the loss hitting them both hard. The room was filled with their father's presence, from the books lining the shelves to the subtle scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Tristan sipped his scotch, the amber liquid a small comfort in this moment of grief.

James broke the silence, looking at Tristan with curiosity. "Have you told Sophie about Dad?”

Tristan nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes, she asked if she should fly out, but I thought it best to spare her the family drama."

James chuckled, shaking his head. "You knew our sisters would have something to say to her about her being younger than them."

"Exactly," Tristan agreed. "I didn't want to throw her to the wolves. But I still want everyone to come out for Easter, spend some time with us and get to know her."

"I'm in." James hesitated, then looked down, his expression troubled. "Before all this happened, I was going to ask you about the prospects for neurosurgeons out where you are."

Tristan met his brother's sad eyes, concern etched in his features. "What's going on?"

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I love medicine, but the competition in these big city hospitals is killing me. I have no life, no special person, and I can't even remember what my apartment looks like."

Tristan looked at him with empathy. "Can you get a couple of weeks off? Fly back with me. The house is big enough; come stay with Sophie and me. You have your license through the physician compact, right?" The compact was an agreement states could participate in to share licensure.

James nodded. "Yeah, Dad made sure all of us did. I think he envisioned a family compound of doctors."

Tristan raised his glass, a determined glint in his eyes. "Call the state tomorrow to confirm. Fly home with me after the funeral. At least you can get some rest."

James nodded, a flicker of hope in his eyes. The two brothers spent the rest of the evening talking about mundane things, finding peace in each other's company.

* * *

The next morning, the family gathered for the funeral, the mood somber and heavy. The service was held at a grand cathedral in Manhattan, its soaring ceilings and stained-glass windows casting a serene light over the mourners. Tristan and James stood side by side, their mother between them, her hand clutching theirs for support. On their other sides, Amelia held on to Tristan and Claire to James.

Tristan was asked to give the eulogy. "Thank you all for being here today to honor my father, Dr. Richard Blackwell. It is a testament to his life and his legacy that so many of you have come to pay your respects…

“…His patients were not just cases to him; they were individuals whose lives he sought to improve with every beat of their hearts…

“… He encouraged us to pursue our passions and dreams, always emphasizing the value of hard work and perseverance. He was there for every milestone, offering wisdom and comfort, and celebrating our successes with genuine pride…

“…His laughter was a constant presence in our home, a reminder of the happiness that could be found in togetherness…

“…I am reminded of a lesson my father taught me early on: that the measure of a life well-lived is not in the accolades we receive, but in the lives we touch and the love we share…

“Let’s spend our lives with the same compassion, integrity, and joy that he exemplified every day.”

As Tristan stepped down, the room was filled with a profound silence. "Rest in peace, Dad. You’ve earned it. We love you," he whispered as he placed his hand on the casket and closed his eyes. Opening them, he rejoined his seat.

After the service, they moved to the cemetery, the chilly winter air biting at their skin. The coffin was lowered into the ground, and each family member took turns placing a rose on top. A sense of finality washed over him as he placed his rose, whispering a silent goodbye.

Back at the penthouse, after a commemorative luncheon, the family gathered in the living room, the atmosphere subdued. Tristan sat with James, their mother resting on a nearby couch, surrounded by their sisters.

James cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention. "I have something to say," he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "I’ve taken a leave of absence from work. I'm going to fly back with Tristan tomorrow. I need some rest and relaxation, and I want to explore neurosurgery prospects out there."

Their sisters exchanged surprised glances, while their mother looked at James with a mixture of concern and understanding. "You've been working so hard,” she said softly. "I think some time away will do you good."

James nodded. "Thank you, Mom. I just need to figure things out, and being with Tristan and Sophie might help."

He placed a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder. "We'll take care of each other."

As the evening descended into night, the penthouse grew quiet. Each family member retreated to their rooms, the day's emotions leaving them drained. Tristan sat on the edge of his childhood bed, the familiar surroundings offering a bittersweet comfort. He reached for his phone, eager to hear Sophie’s voice.

The call connected, and Sophie answered almost immediately, her voice a soothing balm to his weary soul. "How are you holding up?"

Tristan closed his eyes, leaning back against the headboard. "I miss you more every minute," he admitted, his voice thick with longing.

"I miss you too," Sophie replied, her concern evident. "How was the funeral?"

He took a deep breath, recalling the day’s events. "It was hard, Soph. Saying goodbye was... harder than I thought it would be. But it was a beautiful service. Dad would have been proud."

Sophie’s voice softened. "I wish I could have been there with you."

"I know," Tristan said, his heart aching. "But I didn't want to put you through the family drama. James and I talked a lot last night. He's struggling with his career here, and I suggested he come back with me. He needs some rest and to explore new opportunities."

"That's a great idea," Sophie expressed her support. "He'll be good company for you on the flights back. And we have plenty of room.”

Tristan smiled, imagining her face. "I hope to make it home for Valentine's Day. I’ve made some arrangements. Just a small surprise."

"You don't have to worry about Valentine's Day," Sophie reassured him. "I just want you home safe."

"I know, but I wanted to do something special," he insisted.

Sophie’s curiosity seemed to be piqued. "What is it?"

"Losing Dad made me realize how short life is," Tristan explained. "I’ve been thinking a lot, and I will tell you all about it when I get back. I want you to know that I love you, Sophie. Truly." He fingered a black velvet ring box. Inside was his grandmother’s engagement ring.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and then Sophie’s voice came, choked with emotion, "Tristan, I love you too. So much.”

A sense of happiness washed over him. "I can't wait to be back home with you.”

"Just stay safe as you come home to me. Tell James I’m excited to meet him."

"I promise." Tristan felt a newfound strength. "I'll be home soon. And we’ll start planning for Easter. I want my family to know the amazing woman I love."

She chuckled. “You do realize Easter is more than a month away.” Then she whispered, "I love you, Tristan. Take care of yourself."

"I love you too, Sophie. Good night."

As he ended the call, Tristan lay back on the bed, the ache of grief tempered by the warmth of love. In the quiet of the night, he found a semblance of comfort, knowing that soon he would be back with the woman who had become his home.