3. Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Summer
Dad is rushing around the house, looking for his badge. There is something off about him this morning. He’s jittery, and his breathing is shuddering. It’s to be expected since he lost his wife, but I can’t seem to get rid of this feeling growing inside of me. A feeling as though something isn’t right.
While I lean against the door frame, I wrap my arms around my stomach and watch him shuffle through Mom’s perfume bottles on top of the long dresser.
He woke me up around ten this morning after receiving a call from the burial home. They had an opening today, and Dad took it. I never expected it to be so soon, but I suppose it’s better to get the bigger chunk of planning for her funeral done sooner rather than later.
I never used to have problems waking up. I never had problems with my eyes wanting to drift into an endless slumber. But lately, it seems I have to pry my lids open. Even when I would stay awake to study, I never felt this exhausted.
“You sure you didn’t misplace it? Leave it at the office?” I ask Dad, trying to find a solution to help him.
He shakes his head, pausing in his tracks to look at me. “No, Summer. I don’t leave anything in the office. You should know that.”
Right, because I follow his every move each day. Dad’s always been a very possessive person when it comes to his work equipment. Even something as little as a badge.
He walks back into his bedroom and rummages through his top drawers. I follow, keeping my distance in the doorway. My chest aches, knowing Mom will never get to sleep in this bedroom again.
I am startled by the loud bang from Dad slamming his drawers shut. He curses under his breath and runs a palm down his face, groaning.
I hate seeing Dad like this.
I clear my throat. “What about Brentley? Maybe he has a spare.”
Allen Brentley is my father’s good friend. They went to school together, and both became officers. Brentley and Dad would take us golfing every Sunday. Until I turned fourteen and chose to spend every Sunday with Chloe.
Dad shakes his head. The stress is visible on his face. “No, Summer. I brought my badge home, as I do every single day. It’s not something I am willing to replace.”
I shrug. “OK. I can help you look after we go to the burial home.”
He comes closer and kisses the top of my head. “Thank you, Princess.” I tense from the nickname. Not that I don’t appreciate being my father’s little princess. I’ve always been. But I’m an adult now. “Unfortunately, I have to head straight to work afterward.”
My eyes dart to his, flabbergasted. “Are you serious?”
The question sounds harsher than I’d like it to be, but I hadn’t anticipated Dad going straight to work after we planned the funeral.
“Summer, I have a lot to figure out at the office. They are counting on me. I will be home for dinner.” Dad jogs down the stairs and out the front door.
“Just like we are counting on them to figure out who killed Mom,” I mumble to myself.
***
It takes twenty minutes to drive from our house to the burial home. The air between us is heavy. Neither of us can say a word to each other.
Is this what it’s like for everyone? Becoming socially awkward and drifting away from the ones you love the most? My chest tightens from the thought. Dad and I have always been two peas in a pod. My best friend. My supporter.
Now my mother is gone, and we are left with a half-filled glass.
This doesn’t feel real.
I slam the door shut and lean against the car, needing a minute before I step foot into that building. Dad joins me. The both of us stare at the mahogany doors and the wrought-iron archway.
It’s a beautiful building, but it’s what’s inside that sits heavy on my chest.
The final era of death.
“It doesn’t feel real,” I say softly, hugging myself.
Dad wraps one arm around my shoulder and rubs his palm up and down my arm. I wish I could say that it helps, but it doesn’t.
“Let’s go, Princess.”
I frown, wishing he had more to say. “I’ll catch up. I just… I need a minute.”
He nods, pushing off the car, and heading inside. My eyes drift to the sky. The sun is now fully unveiled. There’s not a wisp of clouds in sight, leaving the colors more vivid. The beautiful garden lining the walkway shines vibrant pink and blue orchids.
Mom would have loved the combination.
I take a deep breath and meet Dad inside at the front desk. When I get closer, I overhear him talking with an older man, neatly dressed in an all-black suit.
“Sir, I’m sorry that you didn’t know. She doesn’t have anything in place to cover the cost.”
Dad shakes his head. “Typical. Leave it to her to not have…” He pauses and turns to look at me. A crease forms between my eyes. Dad gives a gentle smile and turns back to the attendant. “I guess we will figure it out.”
The attendant looks over Dad’s shoulder at me, then back at Dad, and nods. It’s clear they were having a conversation that Dad didn’t want me a part of, and that hurts.
I walk the rest of the way to where Dad is standing and pick up the magazine on the countertop.
“What did he say?” I ask.
Dad pinches the bridge of his nose. “Your mother didn’t have a plan.”
My mouth parts, leaving me a little confused. “What do you mean? She’s your wife. You didn’t set something up with her, or, or…”
“Summer. It is being taken care of. Don’t worry.” He gives a tight smile and walks away.
I close my eyes and breathe out.
***
Twenty minutes pass, and I haven’t moved away from the desk. Honestly, knowing that Mom didn’t have a will in place and never spoke to Dad about what she wanted if she ever were to die, I can’t fathom burying her in a casket and leaving her body to rot. I spent the past few minutes flipping through the magazine on the desk that show a handful of urns. My eyes catch one in particular.
“Hey, Dad,” I call out. He walks toward the counter, his eyes still trailing over the caskets that line the wall. “Why don’t we cremate her? I just… I wouldn’t want to leave my useless corpse under the ground full of maggots. Or to be eaten by God knows what. I don’t think she would either.”
Dad leans back against the glass desk, crossing one ankle over the other. “We wouldn’t know what she wanted. She didn’t leave us much.”
I bite my tongue. It’s not my place to tell my father that this should’ve been a conversation during their marriage. Instead, I flip through a few more pages of the magazine. That same feeling I had before we left is tugging on my brain, my heart, and my soul. Everything ready to burst.
Something isn’t adding up.
“So, did you find out anything about the case?” I turn to look at Dad.
His eyes remain on the floor, his expression unreadable. “Some details aren’t important.”
I press my lips together and crinkle my eyes shut. “How is it not important? Every detail is important… at least to me.”
“Summer,” he raises his voice, staring at me in warning.
There’s silence between us for a moment before I whisper, “She’s my mother. I have every right to know what is going on.”
“We’re doing everything we can. Right now, it’s your job to say your goodbyes.”
My throat closes, and my eyes fill with unwanted tears. Tears that I can’t help but let form. I blink them back as much as I can. “I’m going for a walk. I can’t do this right now.”
I storm out of the funeral home, and as soon as the door closes behind me, my chest tightens, and my breathing becomes heavy. My fingers tremble as I fumble with my phone and plug in my headphones.
I should go home. I should call Chloe. Except, right now, I don’t want to do either of those things. I just need time to myself.
The further I walk, the music blocks out the sounds of the filling streets, and all the tears fall. They slither down my cheeks, hot and heavy. Uncontrollable. Raw.
Everyone probably thinks I’m psychotic, and maybe I am. Maybe I deserve all of this.
I make my way into the commons a few blocks from my house and sit on the first bench I see in the shade. I’ve held in the majority of my pain because I felt like I had to be strong for Dad. For everyone else who was close to Mom.
But the truth is, I can’t be strong.
Not anymore.