Chapter Nineteen
Skye
* * *
I didn’t have a key, and for some reason, Ocean was taking forever to let me in. While I waited for her to come down, I scrolled through my phone. Two missed calls from unknown numbers and a string of texts, half of them work-related, the rest from friends checking in.
Then there was Rhys.
Schedule for the shoot has changed. When is your mother’s funeral?
No ‘How are you?’ No ‘How’s Ocean holding up?’ Just the usual. Him and the movie business first. Always.
And Ocean and me? A distant, distant second. If that.
I took a deep breath. I hated that I always got defensive. But to be fair, he’d given me enough reason for it.
No date yet. I’ll let you know.
I hit send.
His reply came fast.
Let me know today. I’ll try to make it.
Wow. Try. I shook my head and plugged in a thumbs-up emoji. What else was there to say?
And then, as if the universe needed to rub it in, another message pinged in. Not from him. This one from O’Connor Mortuary.
Can you please call us? This is urgent.
Urgent? What could be urgent at a funeral home? Had someone stolen my mother’s body?
I didn’t let myself spiral. Not out loud, anyway. The door creaked open, and Ocean appeared in the doorway, looking strangely apologetic. I gave her a quick thanks, sat on the stoop, and tapped Call.
It took a minute before I was connected with Amy, the woman handling Clare’s arrangements. Her tone was gentle, warm, like someone accustomed to navigating fragile ground. We briefly exchanged some small talk, the kind where you both pretend things are normal. Then she got to the point.
“We don’t like to hold the remains of a loved one longer than two weeks,” she told me. “Connecticut doesn’t set a strict deadline for burial or cremation, but most funeral homes try to move forward within that timeframe for practical reasons. It’s really about space and preserving the body with dignity.”
Two days ago, I’d convinced myself I had a little time. But what was I really waiting for? If someone had pushed my mother—if her death wasn’t accidental—would holding on to her change anything? It’s not like I could walk into the sheriff’s office and expect them to discover new evidence from Clare’s body at this point.
Besides, the truth was I really had nothing definite. Just the suspicions of a ghost and the word of a teenager looking for his weed.
“Would next week be okay?”
“Ah. Yes. Of course,” Amy replied, the surprise in her voice softening into something almost kind. Then, I heard computer keys clacking. “Let me see. We have next Wednesday open. That would give us time to run a notice in the paper too. If you can get me the obituary by Monday morning, we’ll make sure it’s in…”
Sunday night. Obituary due.
Wednesday. Funeral.
Somehow, those were the only words that seemed to matter now.
After ending the call, I texted Rhys the date. He replied with a thumbs up emoji. Of course he did.
Still riding the momentum of actually making decisions, I called Bernie. He picked up on the first ring.
“I’m not ready to part with anything right now,” I told him. “What do you think about me renting a storage unit? We could just pack up everything that doesn’t belong in the house and move it there for now.”
