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“What’s this?” she asks as I hand it to her. Her eyes widen as she scans through the pages inside. “Are you kidding, Erin?”
“It’s all sorted so that Mum and Dad don’t have to worry about it,” I quickly explain. “All you have to do is give them this after I’m gone.” Funeral arrangements, right down to catering for the wake, and what to do with my ashes and the remainder of my belongings. It’s all there, formally documented by a solicitor. “Please, Calli. I need to know that you can do this.”
“I’ll do it because I love you and I’d do anything for you,” she whispers.
“There’s one more thing.”
“God, Erin, no more. Please.”
I ignore her and pull out three envelopes from the box.
“Here. One for each of you to read after my funeral. Do not give them out before then, okay?”
She nods, tucking the letters safely into the folder before turning back to glare at me. “Are you done?”
I nod, fi
nally feeling satisfied. I stand up and link my arm in hers. “I think so.”
Chapter Eight
Erin
“He’s not coming, is he?”
Mum frowns at me from her armchair under the shade of the large umbrella that she insisted Dad prop up against the outdoor setting. I glance down at my phone again and reread the message.
Cade: I’m sorry Erin, something’s come up. I’ll see you at the airport tomorrow.
“How can you be sure he’s going to take care of you when he can’t even make it to your farewell barbecue?” Mum asks, shooting my dad a look.
“We’ve been over this, Mum,” I groan, rubbing my head. “He had no obligation to come to my farewell barbecue—which I didn’t even want to have in the first place—and I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”
It’s Saturday afternoon, the day before we leave, and the last place I want to be is here watching my parents grill Cade about his ability to care for me. I’m secretly thrilled he couldn’t make it. I don’t even care what his reason is. I have so much still to do that I feel like hiding under my bed until it’s time for the plane to leave.
Mel wanders over, a sausage in her hand. She gives me a sympathetic smile.
“Can I help with anything?” she asks. “How are you getting there tomorrow?”
“Taxi,” I reply.
“Like hell you are,” Dad growls.
I turn around, shocked at the tone of his voice. Dad never raises his voice. Ever. Not even when Calli filled his shoes with superglue when she was nine. He couldn’t walk for a week because his skin was so raw from the chemicals needed to free his feet.
“You think I’m going to let you take a taxi? I’ll be driving you.”
“I need to be there at four a.m.,” I protest.
“I don’t care when you need to be there, I’m taking you.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say.
He wraps his arms around me and kisses my head. It means a lot that he wants to do that for me. I just hope there are no tears.
“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” asks Mum. “I can make up your old bed, just like when you were little.”
“All my luggage is at home and there’s still things I need to pack,” I mumble. “I don’t have to leave just yet though. Want a hot chocolate outside on the porch, like old times?” I ask her.
