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He’d arrived in Edinburgh with the casket containing Carson’s body two days before the funeral was due to take place. Carson’s brother, Andrew, had been waiting at the airport to meet him and they’d followed the hearse back to the funeral home making awkward small talk at first but Rodney had soon discovered that talking to Andrew was as easy as talking to Carson himself. By the time they’d reached their destination they’d been sharing memories of Carson as if they were old friends.
Meeting Carson’s family had been a bittersweet revelation. In his emails and rare visits home Carson had spoken highly of Rodney, as he had of John and Elizabeth, and had told his family that despite the dangers he loved his job and where he was stationed. No-one had placed any blame on Rodney or on the US military for Carson’s death and his family had been delighted to meet Rodney and had welcomed him warmly. Rodney had immediately fallen under the spell of Mairi Beckett, Carson’s mother, a petite woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer and had plied Rodney with all sorts of traditional Scottish fare.
Rodney soon came to realize that they were proud of Carson, of what he’d achieved. That he’d died saving the life of someone else had obviously softened the blow. It was how Carson would love to be remembered, Mairi had said.
The funeral itself hadn’t been the somber affair Rodney had feared. The small village church had been filled with family and the friends Carson had grown up with, all wanting to celebrate Carson’s life rather than mourn his death. Rodney had been able to share many memories of Carson which had made everyone smile and laugh, even if there were also a few tears.
As he settled in for the long second leg of his flight from London Heathrow to Denver, Rodney realized that at some point over the past few days he’d found peace over Carson’s death.