Chapter 147: The Funeral
Donnie Caan's funeral was held outdoors on Friday morning.
The venue was a lakeside platform.
Near the railing on one side of the terrace stood a modest wooden table.
The surface had been arranged carefully and kept spotless, without unnecessary decorations.
Stacks of pale blue memorial booklets were neatly spread across it, covers facing upward for arriving guests.
Printed across the front was a single line:
[In Memory of Donnie Caan]
Below it was a photograph.
In the picture, Donnie stood outdoors, head tilted slightly to one side, a natural smile resting at the corner of his lips.
Behind him stretched water and sky, blurred together so completely that the location itself became indistinct.
Yet the image still carried an unmistakable feeling of ease and freedom.
Beneath the photo were a few numbers—
Donnie's birth and death dates.
And below that, several short descriptions of who he had been:
[ Partner. Colleague. Friend.]
Not many words.
But enough to clearly define his place in the world.
Some of the memorial booklets had curled corners from being picked up and put back down repeatedly.
At the front of the table lay an open guestbook.
The pages were densely filled with handwritten messages.
Some contained long blessings written in matching handwriting.
Others held nothing more than a signature.
Ethan didn't write anything.
He simply picked up one of the booklets, flipped through it briefly, closed it again, and walked onto the terrace.
The semicircular stone platform stretched outward toward the lake.
The distant tree line had already taken on the colors of late autumn.
Leaves of every shade littered the ground.
Someone had clearly swept the area recently, but not thoroughly enough to erase nature completely.
Whenever the wind blew, a few leaves still scattered gently through the crowd.
Rows of white folding chairs formed a soft arc around the center of the platform.
There were many attendees, yet the space never felt crowded.
Everyone wore dark clothing.
The entire farewell had been carefully designed—
Quiet.
Dignified.
Ethan paused briefly at the edge of the platform before finally stepping inside.
He spotted Bobby almost immediately—
Front row.
Center seat.
Ethan didn't approach him.
Instead, he noticed Wendy Rhoades seated farther back.
He walked directly toward her.
Just as he stopped beside her, a voice echoed across the terrace:
"Friends, please take your seats."
The speaker was a female pastor.
Unlike Ethan, whose faith centered around the Holy Light, hers was devoted to God.
She wore a flowing white robe covered by a pale beige stole, both hands folded around a thick Bible.
At that moment, Wendy finally noticed Ethan and gave him a nod, about to say something—
Then suddenly, her expression tightened.
"Fuck."
Ethan instinctively turned around.
A man was walking toward them.
Wendy immediately brushed past Ethan and intercepted him.
The man opened his arms and hugged her briefly.
Around them, people had clearly begun noticing his arrival.
Their eyes carried anger.
Disgust.
And, more than anything else, cold indifference.
But the man behaved as though he noticed none of it.
Ethan stood close enough to hear him clearly.
"Come on," the man said casually.
"I'll sit beside you."
Wendy blocked his path.
"What are you doing here?"
The man shrugged.
"Paying my respects."
"This isn't appropriate," Wendy replied coldly.
He clearly disagreed.
His gaze shifted toward Bobby seated among the crowd.
"I know that guy over there."
By now, Bobby had already stood up and turned toward them.
Wendy's voice grew even colder.
"I'm absolutely certain the two of you know each other far better than you're pretending right now."
She paused, then added quietly:
"Turn around."
"And leave."
The man's expression remained blank.
"Why should I leave?"
Wendy almost laughed from sheer disbelief.
She glanced around at the surrounding crowd before lowering her voice.
"Get the fuck out."
At that point, the entire funeral's attention had shifted toward them.
And for the first time—
The man's face finally changed.
He suppressed his anger and gave a stiff nod.
Then he walked straight toward Bobby in the front row.
He extended his hand first.
Bobby looked at the offered hand for a moment before finally shaking it.
"A terrible loss," the man said.
"Yes," Bobby replied calmly.
"For both of us."
Only then did the man finally leave.
By this point, everyone had taken their seats, and the pastor began reading scripture.
"The love of the Lord has always been our refuge, enduring through every generation…"
Ethan listened—
But not really.
His thoughts slowly drifted elsewhere.
After the pastor finished, another man stepped forward to speak—
Donnie's partner.
He shared a few memories, his voice restrained and steady throughout.
Then everyone rose from their seats.
One by one, they walked to Donnie Caan's portrait and placed a single leaf before it.
Quiet.
Solemn.
Not a single unnecessary sound.
Ethan placed down a leaf as well.
And as he turned to leave, he suddenly realized—
Something heavy that had been pressing against his chest was gone.
The crowd gradually began to disperse.
Ethan spotted Bobby leaning against a low stone wall, staring out across the lake, seemingly lost in thought.
He walked over and stopped beside him.
"I'd like to be alone for a while."
Bobby's voice was low, carrying an unmistakable pressure behind it.
"Couldn't you just—"
He turned his head and saw Ethan.
"…Sorry, Dr. Rayne."
"I didn't realize it was you."
Ethan smiled faintly.
"Bad mood?"
"It's nothing." Bobby sounded almost indifferent.
"Some disgusting things happened at the company."
"Got it."
Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled out the one-hundred-thousand-dollar check, handing it over.
"This belongs to you."
Bobby took it, glanced at it once, then looked back up.
"What's this supposed to mean?"
"You looking down on my money?"
"Of course not," Ethan said.
"It's just… I wasn't able to help."
"The treatment fee should be refunded. Including your favor."
Bobby fell silent for a moment.
Then he looked at Ethan seriously.
"I won't take it back."
"Please do," Ethan replied.
"Otherwise I'll start feeling like I'm no different from those profit-obsessed hospitals."
Bobby stared at him for several seconds.
"Then how about this."
"If one day you start a charity foundation—"
"Rayne Foundation, or whatever name you come up with."
"Let this be the first donation."
That sentence struck something deep inside Ethan.
He paused, thought for a moment, then slowly took the check back.
"…That works."
"I've actually been thinking about doing something like that recently."
"Really?" Bobby sounded mildly surprised.
"If you need funding, come find me anytime."
"I will." Ethan nodded.
The two men stood there quietly for a while longer.
Wind rippled across the lake in tiny waves.
Sunlight reflected off the water, almost painfully bright.
"Do you regret bringing him to see me?"
Ethan suddenly asked.
"I once heard about a man who waited years for a heart transplant."
"The surgery was finally successful."
"His recovery numbers were excellent. They'd already started discussing his life after discharge."
"Then not long after leaving the hospital, he died in a traffic accident."
"Not rejection."
"Not complications."
"Just fate hitting him from outside the operating room."
Ethan lifted his gaze toward Bobby.
"When I first heard that story, I kept thinking…"
"Something that extreme couldn't possibly happen in real life."
He let out a quiet, bitter laugh.
"But now I realize…"
"It was always closer than I thought."
Bobby didn't answer immediately.
His eyes remained fixed on the lake.
Several seconds later, he finally spoke.
"There are plenty of things I regret."
"But this?"
"Absolutely not one of them."