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I drive by, only giving it a passing glance. There will be time to explore it all later. I take a left off the main strip and follow the road to the only funeral home in Rush Springs.
An older lady greets me when I enter and leads me into a large office. The sofa she offers me to sit on smells of old leather. The style tells its age. There’s a large mahogany desk sitting on one side with a large wing-back chair behind it.
“Ms. Davis.” A familiar man greets. “It’s good to see you, dear, though I wish the circumstances were different.”
I stand, meeting him in the middle of the room. I take his outstretched hand and shake. “Mr. Bexley,” I respond with a small dip of my head.
“Please sit.” He offers, pointing back to the sofa. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I don’t respond. The words catch in my throat. He watches me struggle for only a moment before he fills the silence.
“Ellen called and said you’d be coming by. Here are the arrangements as per your father’s instructions.” He explains as he hands me a file folder with Dad’s last name printed on the side.
I open the file and read the pages within. Dad already took care of everything, it seems. As I expected, they will lay Dad to rest beside my mother.
He laid out everything in writing. All of it is down to the smallest detail. The only thing missing is the choice of casket. “Dad was very thorough,” I mumble.
“Oh, yes. As he was in all of his business affairs. He did, however, request that you choose his casket.”
I take a deep breath and stand. Looking directly at Mr. Bexley, I state, “Let’s get this over with.”
He stands and leads me to a room full of caskets and urns of all sorts. He leads me through the different materials, telling me the pros and cons of each, as well as the cost differences. Then he leaves me alone to make a choice.
I walk around the room, sliding my hand across each one. I take in the differences, finally settling on a slate blue casket with a black silk lining.
I stop at a display of medallions. They magnetically attach to the inside top. I take them all in and one in particular grabs my attention. It says grandpa and has the silhouette of a man riding a horse with a little girl sitting in front of him.
I grab it and another that says, Your life was a blessing, your memory a treasure.
It’s fitting. Dad was such a staple in the community. He was the head of so many foundations and spent years working with at-risk youth. At the end of every harvest, he took crops to the local food banks to help those who needed it.
I don’t know how he ended up with a daughter like me. He deserved better. He deserved someone who would stick around. I should have been that person.
I look up at the ceiling, closing my eyes against the emotion threatening to strangle me. I will not break. Not yet. There will be time for that later.
Footsteps sound on the wooden floor. When I open my eyes, I spot Mr. Bexley standing there. “Do you need more time, dear?” He asks sympathetically.
I shake my head. “No. I’ve decided.”
I hand him the medallions and tell him which casket. He writes the numbers down and takes me back to his office.
“You chose well. Your father would have liked the casket.” He tells me as he slides a piece of paper my way.
It’s an invoice. Choices itemized, including the ones my father already made. I grab my purse, but I’m stopped by Bexley’s hand on mine.
“No need, dear. Your father already handled it.”
Bexley hands me another paper, an itinerary of the funeral itself. I fold it and slip it into my purse. With that done, I thank Bexley for his time and stride out of his office.
The fresh air hits me when I step out of the building. The first sob leaves my mouth and I swallow it down. Not now.
I make my way back to the main strip and park along the sidewalk. Getting out of the car, I look around. The old hardware store catches my eye. The diner still sits at the corner.
As I walk along the front of the shops, a bell tinkles. I look up and see a small family walk out; the children laughing while they lick ice cream cones. The mom looks at them adoringly while the dad looks a little exasperated.
“Hurry before it melts.” He warns.
I can’t help but smile. How many times did my dad tell me the same thing when he brought me here every Sunday after church? How many dresses did I ruin with dripping chocolate and strawberry? Perhaps I’ll bring Dakota here soon.
I can’t walk past the diner without going in. When I walk through the door, the bell tinkles. The woman behind the counter fills a cup of coffee.
