Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“And at the cemetery, we’ll want to send him off with a final rev,” he finishes.
We’ll all be deaf by the time the funeral’s finished.
“I think we can accommodate all of those things. It will take longer than usual, though,” my father says.
“That’s fine.” Abby opens her purse and sticks her hand in, digging around and finally pulling out a small brush and quickly flicking it through her long brown hair. “I need to deal with Dad’s house. I’m hoping the tenants will want to buy it. I don’t want to manage it from California.”
“If you need a referral to an attorney, we can help with that,” my father offers.
“No, Dad had someone.”
My father takes them into the show room, while I follow, pen and notepad in hand, jotting notes as we go.
When we’re finished, I walk them outside, the same comforting platitudes and reassurances I give all our clients rolling off my tongue with practiced ease.
At the bottom of the porch steps, Abby hesitates.
Then, she turns and throws her arms around me, dragging me into a crushing embrace. The force of it knocks me off balance and squeezes the air from my lungs, but I return the hug.
“Thank you, Ms. Cedarwood,” she murmurs against my hair. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you. You’ve been very kind, and I appreciate it.”
A sharp sting prickles behind my eyes.
“It’s okay to feel everything you’re feeling.” I ease away, enough to meet her tearful eyes. “You can’t fast-forward your way through grief. There is no way to skip the messy parts—no way around the anger, sorrow, and frustration of all you’ve lost.”
Her breath hitches.
I gently squeeze her hands. “Every tear you shed, every painful memory you share are all steps toward healing. Allow yourself to feel it all and I promise you, eventually peace will settle in.”
She nods so fast I’m not sure my words sank in, but that’s okay.
Her fingers tighten around mine. “My dad and I had a complicated relationship. I don’t mean to take it out on you.” Her voice wobbles and she pulls a tissue from her pocket, dabbing it under her eyes.
I swallow over the lump in my throat. “I understand completely. I promise we’ll take good care of your father and help you honor his memory.”
Her gaze slides toward Ulfric, and she lets out a sharp, angry breath.
“That’s the problem, all those things he wants, they’re a reminder of how he abandoned my mom and brother and me, in favor of ‘the club.’” Her lips twist into something bitter, a half smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “But I still want to honor his wishes.”
I hang onto my professionalism with both hands. Clients unload years of family trauma on me all the time. I listen, I absorb, and I offer them comfort where I can. But this? This one hits differently.
“I understand.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “Relationships with our parents can be… complicated.”
She inhales sharply and glances at the funeral home then back to me.
“You have my number,” I remind her. “Reach out if you need anything at all or shoot me an email. Even if you think it’s something trivial.”
“Thank you, Ms. Cedarwood.” She wipes under her eyes and sniffles.
“You can call me Margot.” My lips curve into a warm smile.
“Margot,” she repeats, then smiles. “That’s pretty.”
“Thanks.”
Ulfric pulls her into a hug next. She stiffens at first, arms locked at her sides. But after a few seconds, her posture softens, just barely, before she steps back.
“Thank you for everything you’re doing, Ulfric.” Her voice is raw, thick with unshed emotion. She sniffs and presses the tissue against her nose, gathering herself. “Dad could be stubborn.” A weak smile flickers across her lips. “I know you two had your disagreements. The… club stuff.”
She swallows hard. Given how she seems to feel about the club, the words must be like splinters stuck in her throat. But she gets them out. “But he loved you like a brother. Respected you.” Her voice wavers, but she pushes through. “And Dad… he didn’t respect many people.”
Ulfric’s warm rumbling laughter feels like a truce between them. “That describes him well, sweetheart.”
They share a few more words and then Abby hurries to her car, sliding behind the wheel and slamming the door. She doesn’t look back as she pulls away.
Ulfric sighs and jams his hands in his pockets, watching her car turn left, then disappear. “Some men are better at talking about being family men, than they are at being family men.”
I’m not sure what to say to that. I clasp my hands in front of me, tilt my head up, and study him. Waiting to see if he has more to say.
“Thank you for being so understanding, Margot.” He lifts his chin in the direction Abby just drove off. “What you said to her was really nice.”