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I shake his hand as I swallow. “I’m sorry. I was hungry. I skipped breakfast. It was a long night with the baby and I …” I trail off when he laughs.
“Don’t worry. I completely understand. I have three children, and I had nine months to prepare for their arrivals.”
I blow out a puff of air. “I got the shock of my life yesterday when Ms. Cross showed up with Robin.”
He cringes. “I apologize. I didn’t realize Ms. Cross was bringing the baby to you yesterday or I would have called to prepare you.”
“What happened?” I ask. “What happened to my cousin Amy?”
He motions for me to sit down. “Please. Sit. And I’ll explain.”
I settle in the chair across from him. He opens a file and studies it. Does he need to reacquaint himself with the file? Is his not being familiar with my case a bad sign? Or a good sign? What’s he reading? What does it say?
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he finally says.
I inhale a deep breath before I snarl at the lawyer. He can’t know how much I hate those words. How often I’ve heard those words in my life. How trite they sound to me.
“How did Amy die?” I ask instead of explaining to him how his words are completely meaningless to me.
He consults his file. “Amy Kingsley had a massive stroke and was declared dead upon arrival at the hospital on April third.”
I gasp. “A massive stroke? It wasn’t a car accident?”
His brow wrinkles. “Were you informed it was a car accident?”
“No. I … uh…” I trail off. I’m not explaining to this stranger about my fear of people I love dying in car crashes. He doesn’t need to know what a freak I am.
I clear my throat and try again. “Why am I learning about Amy’s death from her lawyer? Why didn’t the hospital contact me?”
“Apparently, you weren’t listed as Amy’s emergency contact.”
I wasn’t? Why not? Amy doesn’t have any relatives besides me. Who could possibly be her emergency contact if not me?
I swallow those questions. They don’t matter. Not anymore. There are other matters to attend to.
“What about her remains? I need to arrange her funeral.”
Unfortunately, I’m experienced in these matters and know what needs to happen next.
Mr. Craven clears his throat. “Ms. Kingsley left explicit instructions. She wanted to be cremated. No funeral. No memorial service.”
I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am. Amy and I were both more acquainted with funerals at eighteen than most eighty-year-olds. We even made a pact way back when. No burials. No funerals. I never took the pact seriously, but I guess my cousin did.
“H-h-her remains?” I clear my throat. “Do you know where her remains are?”
He lifts a box from the seat next to him and slides it across the table. “The funeral parlor delivered these yesterday.”
I place my hand on the box and bow my head.Amy.I never should have let her convince me to not come to the hospital when Robin was born. And I definitely shouldn’t have stayed away after the birth. I missed the final months of Amy’s life and I don’t even know why.
“Please,” Mr. Craven says as he holds out a tissue for me.
I blot my eyes as I pull myself together. I can cry later. When I’m alone. What I need now is answers.
“What happens to Robin now?”
“As Amy’s sole remaining living relative, you have temporary custody. It shouldn’t be difficult to procure permanent custody should you desire such.”
Should I desire such? Does he think I’d let a relative of mine grow up in foster care? No effing way.
