I swallow hard. “Are you okay?”
“Not really,” she replies as she sniffles. “I’m picking out flowers for the funeral, and I can’t remember if my mom liked lilies or hydrangeas. I didn’t think to ask her. There were so many other more important things to ask. Like how she knew my dad was the one and why we never spent any time with Wilder and I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
I force a laugh. “Um… yeah, you are.”
“I’m so sorry,” she apologizes. “We’ve never even spoken on the phone before and I’m trauma dumping on you.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her as I sink into the dusty office chair. I like the sound of Elowyn’s voice. It’s soothing. Even if she’s rambling. “Keep going,” I say.
She exhales. “I know I shouldn’t be mad at Wilder, but I thought he would be more helpful. I thought he might help me pick out a casket or make arrangements with the funeral home. I didn’t realize I would be doing all of this on my own.”
My first instinct is to defend Wilder, but I also don’t want to alienate his sister.
I choose a different approach.
“Isn’t your dad helping you?” I ask.
Elowyn blows out a long breath. “No.”
“Why not?” I press.
“Because he’s too busy drinking at the bar,” she explains.
I should have guessed.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I stand. “Why don’t you send me the address of whatever flower shop you’re at, and I’ll head that way right now.”
“No, I couldn’t ask that of you,” she says.
“I want to help,” I tell her. “Wilder has a lot going on right now, but I don’t. Let me help you.”
“Really?” she says, her voice relieved.
“Really.”
“Thank you, Cash.”
We hang up and I immediately get a text with the address.
I leave the note from my mom on the desk and hurry down the hall. It’s not until I collide with something hard that I realize someone else is in the house, too.
“Cash?” I hear as I hit the wall.
“Dad?” I frown as he grabs my arm and rights me.
“What are you doing here?” we both say at the same time.
“I sleep here sometimes,” he admits. “When things are… anyway. What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and stopped by to check on things,” I tell him.
“I appreciate that,” he says. “But you won’t have to do that much longer. I’m moving back in.”
Of course he is.
“With Clem?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “Maybe.”
