the light switch. I was absolutely certain I didn’t want to see what was in here. Without turning the overhead light on, I stepped into the workshop. I knew the way, after all.
“Grampy?” I whispered. Bowie’s tail thudded against the floor, the only answer.
Slowly, carefully, I made my way to the worktable in the corner and then, after a moment’s hesitation, turned on the old copper light. Its gentle light was more than enough to show what I already knew I’d see.
My grandfather sat in his old recliner, Bowie lying at the foot of the chair. My dog’s tail thumped once, but he didn’t get up.
Noah’s eyes were closed. More than ever, he resembled a skinny Santa Claus, the white beard and hair, the gentle, capable hands. Without his customary scowl, his face was sweeter and more relaxed. Those lines around his eyes … they were laugh lines. My grandfather had a wonderful smile. He’d always tried to pull off that grumpy old man persona, but I’d never bought it—not really. A person couldn’t hide a good heart, no matter how hard he tried.
He really looked as if he were sleeping. Such a cliché, but reassuring, because even though I’d grown up in a funeral home, I’d always been afraid of the dead.
Bowie whined again. “You’re such a good boy,” I whispered. “Such a good dog, Bowie.”
I covered Noah’s cold, stiff hand with my own and knelt by the chair, hot tears slipping down my face. He must’ve been here for a while, because the shop was chilly, no fire hissing in the woodstove. It was so quiet. “Oh, Noah,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”
Don’t be an idiot, I could almost hear him saying.
“Mom and Dad are back together,” I told my grandfather, my voice wobbling. “So you don’t need to worry about your son anymore, okay? And I’ll look after Freddie. He’ll be fine. He’s just young. He’s growing up, though. I know he’ll make you proud.”
I thought of my grandmother, the love of Noah’s life. Thought of Mr. Morelock and my uncle Remy, gone for so long. I hoped they were there for Noah. I was so glad I got to live with him and tease him and help him. Glad he’d found a little fun with Jody in his last weeks. Glad he died out here in the shop he loved so well, working until his last day, because an old Vermont Yankee wouldn’t want it any other way. Glad my excellent dog had been here, because Noah had so loved Bowie.
I kissed my grandfather’s forehead, then rose. “Come on, Bowie,” I said. “You did a good job. Come get some bacon.”
My dog, released from his duty, followed me into the kitchen.
Funny. I didn’t really know what to do, despite my upbringing. I gave Bowie his reward, then picked up the phone. Dialed a number almost without realizing it. Please be there, I thought.
He wasn’t.
“You’ve reached Ian McFarland. Please leave a message and I’ll call back as soon as possible.”
“Ian?” I said, my voice small. “I know you’re a little mad at me, but I was wondering if you could come over, because my grandfather just died.”
TWO HOURS LATER, I WAS alone again in Noah’s house.
My parents had come almost immediately. Dad standing silently next to his father for a few minutes, then kissing his head. Mom took Dad in her arms then, murmuring softly. Robbie Neal, River Rat and paramedic, had come to confirm that Noah was indeed gone, and Shaunee, another ambulance volunteer, gave me a hug.
“Looks like a massive heart attack,” she said.
The police asked a few questions … when I’d seen him last, if he’d had any visitors, the usual. They did a routine check, but it was obvious that Noah’s heart had simply stopped. Louis came, quiet and efficient, and for the first time, his voice didn’t seem creepy … instead, he seemed only kind and capable.
Both my parents were concerned about me, wanted me to stay over, offered to stay here. They figured Hes and Freddie could wait ‘til morning to hear the news … Freddie had gone out with friends, Hester always went to bed early. I offered to tell Jody tomorrow. Poor Jody.
“You sure you don’t want to come home, sweetheart?” my mother asked, petting my hair as I sat at the kitchen table. Dad was out with the EMTs.
“I’m fine, Mom,” I said. “Just, you know … sad.” Bowie, who was definitely putting in some overtime, put his head on my lap and winked his blue eye. I smiled at him and gave him half of the sandwich Mom had made for me. I looked up at my mother. “I’ll just stay here tonight, have a good cry.”
She looked at me sternly, assessing my truth-o-meter. “Okay. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Thanks, Mom. I guess you have all the arrangements and stuff?”
She nodded. “Yes. He gave them to me after your gran died. He never thought he’d live so long without her.”
I looked up at my mother. Her face was contemplative. “Mom?”
“Yes, honey?”
“I’m so glad you and Daddy are back together.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Me, too,” she whispered.
“You sure you want to be alone, Poodle?” Dad asked, coming back into the kitchen.
“I’m sure, Daddy.”
I hugged them both, assured them once more that I’d be fine, watched as Dad held the door for Mom. As he got into the car next to her, she took his hand and kissed it.
Then I turned away from the window and went upstairs to wash my face and brush my teeth, change into pajamas. My throat was tight and hard with tears, and the house was so horribly quiet.
There, in the corner of my room, by the window that overlooked the river, sat my Morelock chair. On the shelf above it sat seventeen little wooden animals, carved over the years by my grandfather, and at the realization that he’d never make another, a sharp pain stabbed my chest.
I came back down to the great room, sat on the couch. Bowie leaped up next to me. Maybe Deadliest Catch was on, but the thought of watching it without Noah made my throat ache even more. I could’ve called Annie, but I didn’t, just sat in the quiet, quiet house. When a knock came on the door, Bowie and I both jumped. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. He was here. Finally.
It wasn’t Ian.
“Mark,” I breathed. “What are you doing here?” I glanced past him to see if there was anyone else coming … Ian, for example.
His face was solemn. “I just heard,” he said, taking me in his arms. “I’m so sorry, Callie.”
It was a full-body hug … not just the lean-in type, but a full court press, thighs to faces. His cheek was against mine, smooth and warm and clean-shaven. He smelled like he always did—that Hugo Boss cologne that I’d loved so much, I’d pathetically bought a bottle after our breakup. Many maudlin hours were spent sniffing the stupid cologne and analyzing those famous five weeks.
I
