I thought I knew every secret my father had carried with him. Then a stranger appeared after the funeral and made me question how much of Dad’s life I had never known.
The evening after we buried my father, I sat in his old armchair and couldn’t bring myself to move. I was still wearing the black dress from the funeral.
My Dad’s funeral was one of the hardest days of my life. Friends and relatives shared stories about his kindness, making it even harder to say goodbye. When I finally returned home, all I wanted was to be alone.
The house smelled of him.
I was still wearing the black dress.
His reading glasses sat folded on the side table, right where he’d left them. The Sunday newspaper was still creased open to the crossword.
I couldn’t touch any of it.
The phone buzzed against my knee, and I almost let it go. Then I saw Marion’s name and picked up.
“Scarlett, honey. I’ve been thinking about you. Are you eating?”
“I made tea.”
“That’s not eating.”
“I know.”
I couldn’t touch any of it.
My cousin sighed on the other end of the line, that soft Marion sigh I’d been hearing since we were girls. “Do you want me to come over? I can be there in 20 minutes.”
“No. I need tonight for myself. Just to sit with him a little longer.”
“Your Dad would hate seeing you alone right now.”
I laughed, or something close to it. “He would. He’d tell me to put on sweatpants, eat a sandwich, and go out.”
“I need tonight for myself.”
“He’d pay for the sandwich, too,” Marion added. “For you and everyone in line behind you.”
I pressed my hand to my mouth and let the tears come.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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