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By the time Deacon was done showering, Sara had brushed her hair and put it up. She was putting on powder in front of the mirror now. He moved to his suitcase, grabbing a pair of jeans, some boxers, and a T-shirt.
Running his fingers through his hair, he said, “All right. I’m ready. What’s the plan? Did you eat anything?”
Shaking her head, Sara said, “Not really very hungry.”
Pinning her down with a stare, he said, “It doesn’t matter. You need to eat something. The last food you had was a cookie. Maybe you could eat something with vitamins this time.”
Sara said, “Aren’t you bossy this morning?”
Laughing, he said, “I wouldn’t have to be if you’d eat.”
Stopping in the drive thru of Donut Hut, they each got an iced coffee and a bagel.
Once Deacon had pulled back onto the highway, Sara answered his unasked question, and said, “Hospice. I’ll put the address in GPS.”
Sara picked at her bagel and sipped her coffee, while Deacon drove them to Greenwood. It was a quick drive, only about fifteen minutes. Getting out of the car, Sara quickly tossed the coffee and uneaten bagel. Her hands were shaking. He was pretty sure she was about to have a panic attack.
Deacon grabbed her hand and tugged her back to him and said, “Come here, honey. You have to breathe. You look like you’re going to pass out.”
Sara looked like she was ready to bolt so he placed his hands on her shoulders and said, “Close your eyes for a minute. Take a deep breath. Please?”
After a moment she nodded, then closed her eyes. She took one shuddering breath, then another. She continued to stand there on the sidewalk, eyes closed, just breathing with Deacon until he moved his hands.
Brushing his hand over her cheek, he smiled and said, “Better. Thank you.”
Together, they walked into the building. Sara went to the front desk. After introducing herself, the receptionist told her to have a seat, then dialed. A few moments later, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes came out of a side door in the lobby and walked up to Sara.
She introduced herself to both of them, shaking their hands. After expressing her condolences, she motioned for Sara to come back to her office. Seeing Sara’s wide, frightened eyes, Deacon wrapped his arm around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze.
Gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk, the woman advised, “Ms. Westing. The folks from Walton are on the way to collect your father for cremation. Would you like to say your final good-byes?”
Shaking her head vigorously, she said, “No. Not at all. I’d really like to collect his things and then find out what the next steps are.”
Smiling kindly, she said, “Here, there isn’t really anything left to take care of. You’ll handle the next steps through the funeral home. They can assist you with paperwork such as death certificates. Typically those take a few weeks to generate through the state. I’ll go get his personal effects. I’ll only be a moment.”
When she left her office, Sara looked at Deacon a little helplessly, her eyes watering. Picking up her hand, he squeezed it and said, “We’re almost done here, baby. This is almost over.”
Closing her eyes, she took a few deep breaths and then squeezed his hand.
When Ms. Wallace, the caseworker, came back into her office, she had a small plastic bag. There was a set of keys, a wallet, a watch, and a book. Handing the bag to Sara, she said, “Here you are, Ms. Westing. Also, here’s my card. If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me.”
Numbly, Sara took the card and the bag, then stood up. After shaking her hand again, they walked out of the office, and into the lobby. Once they made it out the front doors, Sara broke down again.
Pulling her into his arms, he held her and let her cry. When she finally straightened, her eyes were puffy, but her face looked more resolute now. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she sniffled.
Deacon reached into his pocket, glad he had thought to bring some tissues along. Opening the travel pack, he handed it to her. Watching her wipe her face, then blow her nose, he waited. When she had discarded the tissues, he led her back to the car.
They sat there a few moments, not saying anything, just sitting there. Deacon finally asked, “Where to now?”
Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a set of keys. After plugging the address into the GPS, she said, “The house, I guess.”
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Within twenty minutes, they arrived at the house. It looked surprisingly well manicured, despite his illness. He must have been paying for upkeep.
When they exited the car, Sara looked almost ill. Her hands were shaking again, so he took the keys from her and put them in his pocket. Pulling her to him, he stroked a hand down her back until she finally pulled away and said, “Okay. Let’s do this, I guess.”
Reaching her hand into his pocket, she fished the keys out and walked toward the front door. Unlocking the deadbolt, she moved to the bottom lock. Turning the knob, she slowly pushed open the door.
