But it’s just ashes. It’s not really her.
“But it is,” I whisper and decide to put the box on the backseat. Shuddering, I turn around and buckle my seatbelt over my lap, and drive home.
Mom and Everly are both sitting on the porch swing when I pull into the driveway, and the dumpster is nearly overflowing now. Dad and Elijah must have brought more stuff up from the basement, and as much as I wanted to look through all the boxes before they got tossed, I will not resort to dumpster diving.
“Dinner’s ready!” I call, deciding to leave the remains in the car until after we eat, not wanting to put a damper on anyone’s mood. That, and I know Mom, Dad, and Elijah will leave after the ashes are scattered. Call me selfish but I want them here for one more day.
I don’t want to admit it, but I could use the help.
“Can we eat on the screened-in porch?” Everly asks when I go up the warped wooden porch steps.
“Sure, though it’s getting chilly now that the sun is going down,” I say. “Go set the table.”
Nodding, Everly gets up and makes it through the front door before she pauses, getting distracted by her phone. Mom and I go in after her, calling Dad and Elijah up from the basement. I feed the cats and Riley as Mom dishes out the food, and then we all gather together around the little patio table. I miss family meals like this, and they don’t happen too often.
Louisa’s in Chicago, Elijah’s in Cambridge, and now I’m here in Silver Ridge. Mom and Dad still live in my childhood home in Naperville, but they’ve talked about moving to a smaller house with a bigger yard for any future grandkids to enjoy. Though this seems like wishful thinking, since Louisa and Ruby have decided not to have children, I’m probably not having another unless I happen to get married within the next few years—hah—and, who knows about Elijah. Or they might retire to an “old person community” in Florida, as Mom puts it.
Mom helps clean up after dinner, though it’s easy with takeout, and then she, Dad, and Elijah leave to go back to the bed and breakfast in town. I go over Everly’s schoolwork with her and try to help her with math—but end up having to Google the answers—before I finally have about twenty minutes to sit and watch TV with her.
I go to the barn to do night-rounds, giving everyone more hay before closing up for the night. Thor somehow got his bandage off, and Lucy pulled her water bucket down. I tackle the water bucket issue first, rifling through the array of tools in the shed behind the house for a drill, which isn’t charged, and then waste fifteen minutes trying to unscrew the holder from the stall wall.
Giving up, I hang her bucket back up with bailing twine and then bring Thor into the aisle, putting him in the cross ties.
“I’d really appreciate not getting kicked. Again.” I give him a treat and run my hand over him, slowly crouching down. Half the gauze is undone and hanging around his hoof. It’s too dirty to wrap back up so I take it off, re-clean the wounds, and redress everything.
I get him back in his stall and step into the middle of the aisle, looking up and down the barn. I didn’t sweep after cleaning stalls, and there’s bedding and hay dirtying the aisle. Knowing I’ll regret it in the morning, I grab a broom so I can sweep everything up. My arm still kills from being kicked this morning, and pushing the broom has me grunting with pain. I give up halfway through, telling myself a good night’s sleep will speed up the healing process and I’ll be back in action tomorrow.
But when I wake up the next morning, that’s not the case. I didn’t hit snooze a million times, though, and I get downstairs before Everly and make us coffee. I pull out a container of food from last night and put it on the counter in case she wants to take it to school.
Mr. Meowster and Tinkerbell trot into the kitchen after me, meowing for their food. It gets Riley excited, and I feed the cats on the screened-in porch, keeping the dog from getting their food.
“Morning, sunshine,” I say when Everly comes down the stairs. I set Riley’s bowl down and grab two mugs from the cabinet. “How’d you sleep?”
“I had a weird dream that Aunt Kim was standing next to your car, just staring into the house.”
Fuck! I nearly drop the mug in my hands. I left Aunt Kim’s remains in the back of my car. How the hell did I forget about that? I’m a horrible person and, if Aunt Kim does come back to haunt us, I deserve it.