From The Wreckage by Michele G Miller Page A

side of West comes alive.
    "It's a shame our accommodations are so shabby, then. Should I offer you a rain check?" she coyly teases back. Clearly she isn’t thinking straight, to make such a comment.
    "Hell, yeah you should! I'm taking you up on that, too. No backing out now."
     
    Oh my wow! she thinks. She pulls back from the memory suddenly, which causes her body to warm, her blood rushing not unlike molten liquid. She needs a cold shower. Maybe that conversation is why West asked her if she could remember anything they talked about! She can’t believe she flirted so openly with him. Stress is the only excuse she can make for herself as she pulls her new cell phone from her nightstand and checks her messages. Nothing. It is close to midnight, but she pulls up Stuart's name and sends him a quick text.
     
    Jules: I miss you. First funeral tomorrow. Wish you were here to go with me. Call me soon
     
    She realizes two things as she lays there in the dark with Jase breathing lightly beside her.
    One - she didn’t want to tell Stuart she loved him as she typed her text. Two - she wishes she had the courage to call West.
    She lays awake in bed for a long time after that, and her mind keeps playing tricks with her heart. Every time she tries to think of Stuart and what he’s doing, she is reminded of West, and she begins to long for him. How was he taking all of this? she wonders. Is she the only one lingering over every minute of their time together? They had been trapped and were lucky to be alive…it's not as if it was a romantic vacation, so why is she envisioning his lips on hers every time she closes her eyes? Why did she suddenly remember their 'rain check' conversation? And more importantly, why is she dying to tell him he should cash in that rain check?

Eleven
     
    Jules fans herself and takes another quick sip of her tea. Memories of those early days and her strong feelings for West always make her blush. Telling them to a video camera for people to watch some day? That makes her downright hot with embarrassment.
    "The next day we had the first two funerals. They were both for students from Hillsdale whom I knew casually, and although they were extremely hard, it's what happened on Thursday that really changed things.”
     
    * * *
     
    Jules is only mildly surprised when he comes up behind her at yet another memorial service for one more student lost. She stands on the outskirts of the burial site within a crowd of Hillsdale students who made it a point to attend the funerals of each Hillsdale student.
    It is their way of honoring those who wouldn't be able to enjoy a full life. There are eight in all; eight bodies recovered. Four from the group at the Ice Shack, two from their own homes and two more from local establishments hit by the storm. Today's funeral is for sophomore Quinton Marks; a promising academic who dreamed of becoming an engineer and going to MIT. One more dream lost , Jules thinks, as she listens to the eulogy during the service.
    Quinton's parents are huddled together as they sit in the front row at the grave site. Their heads are bowed and his mother holds a white handkerchief to her mouth as she rocks herself. The older woman to her left clutches her heart and cries openly. Jules feels tears rise as she watches their grief. Her emotions swirl in confusion as she once again thanks God for her life while questioning why so many had to die.
    She diverts her gaze from the Marks, no longer able to bear their grief, and is startled to feel a warm hand slide into hers. It is a simple movement; soft fingers rubbing against hers as they fit around her palm and squeeze reassuringly. Today she squeezes back without bothering to look behind her to verify who it is. The same hand found hers at two other funerals this week; silent touches of understanding at the pain they are all going through. Silent infusions of his strength.
    Today however, when the crowd begins to disperse his hand remains in hers.