Her skin is pale, and she’s covered with a heavy sheet, and Mr. Sampson is saying that if we have something we’d like her to be buried in, we could provide that. It’s horrifying, because he says they can do her makeup, that she’ll look nice if we wanted to have an open casket for the funeral and—

Luckily for me, there’s a trash can that I just make it to before the scant breakfast I choked down comes right back up. Otter’s hand is at my back, rubbing slow circles as my stomach turns, as my throat clenches until there is nothing left.

It’s her, and she’s gone, and she can never hurt us ever again.

I don’t look back as Otter leads me from the cold, cold room.

“WE’D LIKE to talk about cremation,” Otter says.

“Of course,” Mr. Sampson says as if it’s nothing. “I can suggest a crematory that will accommodate you. The turnaround time is usually three to five days. Will that be sufficient?”

“The ashes can be shipped?” I ask, my mouth still bitter.

Mr. Sampson finally cracks. His eyes widen, but he recovers. “Of course.”

“Good. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to.”

“THE KEYS,” I tell the neighbor as she answers the door. “You said—”

She holds out her hand, and I give them to her. “Is it empty?”

“Yes. If the landlord finds anything else, he can keep it. Throw it away. Whatever. We’re done. We won’t be coming back.”

She nods. “I’ll make sure he gets these.”

I mumble my thanks and turn, heading toward the road where Otter waits, trailer loaded, ready to put this place behind us.

“She said something about her son once,” the woman calls out behind me.

Goddammit.

I stop, but I don’t turn around.

“I think she was drunk.” The woman laughs dryly. “Well, I know she was. She liked her Jack, didn’t she?”

Yes. She did.

“Anyway, she was out on the front porch, and I thought I’d be neighborly, given that she was new and all. But I could smell it on her even as I introduced myself. She was smoking, and everyone knows secondhand smoke is just as bad as if you put that filter in your own mouth and suck, so I told myself I wouldn’t stay long. And she was polite, but only just, and I knew we’d never be friends. Just one of those things, I guess. She asked if I wanted to share a drink in celebration. I declined, but I asked what she was celebrating. She said it was her son’s birthday. Funny name, she called him. Said it was Bear’s birthday, and she was toasting him, even though he wasn’t there to see it. I asked her why this son of hers wasn’t there. And you know what she did? She smiled at me and said that it was because she wasn’t brave enough. She cried after that. I waited until she was done before I told her that it was never too late.”

My fingernails are digging into the palms of my hands. Otter’s looking worried, like he’s getting ready to jump out and rush over any second now.

“You know what she said to

that?” the woman asks me. “She said that sometimes, bravery isn’t enough. I didn’t believe her, of course, but I believed that she believed it. And since I didn’t know her from Adam, who was I to argue? I wished her a good evening and saw myself home. Never really talked to her after that. It was as if that was the last time she knew how to be a person. Every time I saw her after that, she was rude and indifferent. It got to the point where I didn’t even wave hello anymore. The girl, though. The girl was nice. She’s going to be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because I think she needs someone to love her. Don’t know that she got enough of that here. Well. Enough jawing. I expect you’ve got a trip ahead of you. Don’t worry about things here. I’ll make sure the keys get to where they need to be.”

I hear her shut the door behind her.

Otter sits idling on the corner, and I can tell he’s starting to get agitated, that at any moment he’s going to burst out of the SUV and charge over to me, demanding to know if I am all right. He tends to be overprotective like that, and I think being here is probably affecting him almost as much as it is me.

I hesitate, only for a moment, looking over at the house that I don’t think ever really became a home. It looks shabbier now that I know what was inside. Dull and lifeless. I can see through the front window, and it’s hollowed out and empty.

My mother was not a good woman.

Her decisions hurt all of us.

Tags: T.J. Klune The Seafare Chronicles Romance
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