34. Lottie

If I was capable of feeling anything, it might have been distress. But in the three days since Dad had died, I hadn't been able to feel at all. I'd hardly been able to think or eat or move. I'd cried every second up until he took his last breath, his hand in mine and his monitor beeping until it didn't, and the second it stopped, so did the tears.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't sit around and do nothing. I had things to handle, an estate to settle, a funeral to plan. I didn't want to do any of it, but then again, no one ever does. I wondered if this was how Dad felt when Mom died, but I imagined losing a partner was a much different kind of pain from losing a parent.

The woman in front of me, in her obnoxious pastel pink suit and icy white hair, droned on about flower arrangements, slideshows, and the importance of picking the perfect plot. Dana nodded along to every word she said, but I just couldn't wrap my head around any of it. I caught the important tidbits but the rest was just white noise. I almost wished it was Hunter with me instead of Dana. At least then I could say that my husband would handle everything.

I glanced down at the ring on my left hand, sparkling and gaudy in all the wrong ways. It didn't feel like it was mine. It was just a prop.

I answered as many questions as I could with one-word replies. Would you like roses? Sure. Do you have some digital copies of photos of your father? Somewhere. Is your mother buried here? No.

Dad had Mom cremated. She lived at home on the mantle, but Dad had specifically written in his will that he wished to be buried. I hadn't quite figured out if we'd bury him with her ashes yet.

After handing over the suit that I'd forced Dana to pick out for Dad, we agreed to meet again when I was better prepared to answer questions and left having made little progress in the funeral planning. Dana dragged me to the closest coffee shop. It was warm, comfortable and small, a local family business that served as both a cafe and a bookstore.

"Why don't you look around while we wait?" Dana suggested, her hand gently touching my shoulder.

I shook my head. It just didn't interest me. Nothing did.

We took our coffees to go and walked through the brisk air back toward the car. I wished I hadn't left it in the parking lot of the funeral home. There wasn't a single part of me that wanted to look at that place or remember that I'd have to be there again in the near future. I wanted to pretend that none of it was happening and go home, but home wasn't any better—the hospital bed he'd died in was still sitting in the living room and the distinct lack of his presence was everywhere.

"It's going to be okay," Dana said quietly. Her hand wrapped around my shoulder from the passenger seat, giving it a little squeeze. "Do you want me to handle the rest of the funeral arrangements? You'll just need to handle the reading of the will and finalize the funeral paperwork."

I knew she was offering out of kindness. But I couldn't help but feel that part of it was due to pity. "Maybe," I said.

Her hand squeezed me again before she let go with a sigh.

The first time driving down our long dirt driveway after Dad had passed felt lonely. I could still see his tire marks frozen in the mud, his big red truck parked out in front of the house. It was as if nothing had changed. A part of me still expected him to saunter out the front door, coffee cup in hand, and give me a wave as I parked up next to him.

Soon enough the lawyer would arrive to do the official will reading. I already knew what the majority of it said—Dad had made sure I was aware well before any of this had happened, back when he was still himself before the cancer turned him into a crumbling shell. I'd get the house and the property, along with whatever money was leftover in his business. Everything he had would go to me.

Dana and I walked into the house in silence. To my surprise, the hospital bed was gone from the living room, along with the myriad of monitors, oxygen machines, and everything else that had been there helping him. I stared at the space, replaced with only his favorite recliner, in confusion.

"I had it removed while we were gone," Dana said quietly.

Slowly, I turned to her. "Thank you," I breathed. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders, pulling her to me as tightly as I could manage. I didn't know how to express my gratitude in words for her friendship and never-ending presence lately. The embrace was all I could do.

"I knew it was bothering you."

I nodded into the crook of her neck.

"I do have plans for tonight but I can cancel if you need me," she said, wiggling out of my arms as she plastered a smile on her face. I shook my head. She'd stayed with me for the past three nights, she deserved some time to herself. "It's okay. Go."

————

The one thing I hadn't been expecting from the reading of the will was being handed a memory card.

I slid my laptop from under my bed and opened it, turning the memory card over in my hand nervously. Why would Dad leave this to me? Part of me wondered if he'd gone out of his way to handle some of the arrangements of his funeral, digitizing his photos and putting them all together in one, easy place for me.

My heart raced as I pushed it into the SD port. A little sound chimed from my laptop, and within a couple of seconds, the contents popped up on my screen.

Or, rather, content.

One single video. I could see his face in the thumbnail, gaunt and hollow. From the file's information, it was taken the day after the wedding, lasting only one minute.

I knew I shouldn't have clicked it. I knew it would only make me feel worse, only heighten the numbness that had taken over my body. But I just couldn't help myself.

"Hiya, Lottie," Dad coughed.

Fuck.

"If you're watching this, then, well, we both know what happened." Seeing his pajamas hanging so loosely on him almost felt foreign despite that being his normal for the last month or two. I'd stared at the photos around the house since he'd gone, trying to ingrain that healthy version of himself in my head instead. "There are a few things I want to say to you. I'm sorry I couldn't work up the nerve before now. I just didn't want to make this any harder."

My throat closed in.

"I don't want you to worry about anything. If you want to sell the house, angel, then sell it. If you want to take down my photos and replace them with your own family when the time comes, do it. I'm happy with whatever choices you make." Another cough, another shaky breath. "If you're okay with it, I'd love to be buried with your mother's ashes in my casket, but I understand if you don't want to part with her yet. I don't want my passing to cause you any extra pain."

I glanced across the room at the urn that held Mom. I'd carried it up with me after Dana left, wanting, at the very least, the idea of someone with me.

"Don't worry about me, Lottie. I'm sure wherever I go after this life ends, I'll be with your mother. And I'll be watching over you." His eyes watered, a single tear rolling down his wrinkled cheek. "I'm so happy that I'm able to leave knowing you've got Hunter to keep you safe. The peace I feel knowing you've found someone like I found your mother is unlike anything I could have hoped for. I know I didn't approve at first, sweetie, but the way he looked at you last night—sorry, your wedding night—I could tell."

My chest ached. But it was all a lie, Dad.

"I love you, Lottie-kins. I'm sorry I have to go. Take care of yourself and I'll see you when it's your time."

I pushed the laptop away from me, the guilt sinking into my stomach, causing it to churn. I'd lied to him. I'd faked so many things—happiness, love, an entire wedding, and although it had given him a semblance of peace, it hadn't been real. Did he know that, now, from wherever he was? Was he looking down at me and seeing a liar of a daughter, a girl who had scammed him and the rest of the world for her own gain?

I stood, feet bare on the ancient wood floor. If Dad really was out there somewhere, would I have to pretend for the rest of my life? Even in privacy, in my own head?

Before I knew it, I was out the back door, the freezing evening wind whipping my loose hair about my face. The cold didn't faze me, even in my short-sleeved shirt and thin pajama pants. I could feel the grass between my toes, the icy mud coating my heels, but I kept walking. I just needed to get away. I needed space.

The walk through the woods was a blur. Rocks and branches cut into the bottoms of my feet, but the pain didn't register. I was aware of the discomfort, but the numbness that had overwhelmed me the moment Dad died, only amplifying since, outweighed the agony.

I didn't realize I'd fallen just steps from the meadow until another gust of wind brought me back to reality. Leaves and twigs stuck to my palms, and as I knelt there on the ground brushing my hands on my pants, little droplets of blood sprung up amongst the dirt.

I wasn't sure how long I sat there before an arm wrapped itself around my midsection. I was shivering, though, and the blood had dried. The sun had set, and the only light was that coming from his phone sitting upright beside me.

His scent was enough to tell me exactly who it was that pulled me back against their chest.

"I'm so sorry," Hunter whispered, his breath so warm it was almost burning against the side of my frozen cheek. His arms held me tightly, warming me, bringing me back to life little by little.

I broke.

Tears sprung from my eyes as I stared down at the dark ground in front of me, my fingers digging into the flesh on his forearms. "Where have you been?" I asked, the words coming out choked, harsh, broken. I gasped in a breath, the flood hitting me all at once.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted me here." He turned me in his arms, one hand coming up under my chin and forcing me to look at him. My body shook, my sobs cracked and slow, and every part of him, as disheveled as he looked, was exactly what I wanted. "Breathe, Lottie. You're okay."

I wasn't okay. I knew that. But this was the closest I'd be anytime soon.

"You're freezing," he mumbled, studying my face as if he were checking for any other scrapes or injuries. "How long have you been out here?"

I shook my head. There wasn't a single part of me that had any idea.

One solid, warm hand splayed across my cheek as his forehead fell against mine. "It's okay. I've got you."

Those words would have felt like an attack a week ago, but it was different now. I could feel the change in myself, the change in him. There wasn't any expectation anymore, no reason we had to keep up appearances. And yet, I still wanted his arms around me, still wanted him with me. Gasping for more oxygen, the breeze blew again, chilling my damp cheeks and making my eyes water even more.

"I wish I could fix it for you," he rasped. His brows knitted together, his face full of hard lines.

You can. I wanted to say it, but the words couldn't get past the growing lump in my throat. He was here. He could make me forget. That was enough.

Wrapping one hand around the back of his neck, I pulled him down to me, forcing his lips against mine. I should have wiped my tears away first, but he kissed me as if it didn't matter, as if I were a pageant queen who had just stepped off the stage, perfect and clean and unbroken.

He pushed the hair from my face, taking some more tears away with it. "I'm sorry," I whispered against his lips. They were the only words that would come, the only thing I could manage. "I'm so sorry."

"Shh."

I dug my fingers into the back of his neck. Words. I needed them to come. "I'm sorry I hurt you," I sniffled, the words morphing into another sob before I could stop it. God, it felt good to cry. "I'm sorry I lied."

His hand cupped the small of my back, bringing me in closer. "It's okay," he said. "I'm sorry too."

Trying desperately to calm my crying, I breathed as solidly as I could, forcing air in through my nose and out through my mouth. "I need you," I whimpered. "I need to forget."

Within a second he'd scooped up both his phone and my body, lifting himself to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up first."

My fingers and toes ached from the cold, screaming for warmth, and as he slowly began to walk back to the house, he didn't dare complain when I buried my hands beneath his jacket, stealing his body heat.