you could get used to so much attention. It was like he really cared about her. It was probably just his way. He likely read the backs of cereal boxes, too.
“It’s all set with the Reno funeral people,” he said. “They’ll fly them to Phoenix tomorrow.”
“That’s good. How did you even know what to do?”
“A social worker at the hospital explained the procedure. It was mostly a blur. We’re due at the mortuary at nine to choose flowers and the casket and all. Just now, I called our minister and we’ll meet him at the church after that to plan the funeral.”
Flowers...casket...funeral. The words echoed in her head.
“We’re supposed to post the obituaries on the mortuary website so people can write their condolences. We’ll need to choose photos.”
“Photos...right.” She had to write her sister’s obituary. Obituaries were for old people, not young mothers.
“I figure we’ll have the funeral on Saturday.”
“Saturday...? Wait... What about the anniversary party? We have to tell people!” She started to get up.
“It’s done. I had Brianna’s friend Rachel call everyone. We already had caterers coming. It seemed smart to use them. We’ll take the words off the cake—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw muscle twitching, clearly struggling against sadness.
“That’s very...practical.” What else could she say? “Plus everyone was already planning to come.” She gulped. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“Me, neither. Believe me. My mother should be able to get here by Saturday. She’s on a cruise. I had to leave word for her.”
“Will she want to stay here?”
“She prefers hotels, which is better for all of us. I love her, but there’s always drama and it’s always about her.” Aubrey had enjoyed Lorraine at the wedding. She was lively and funny and full of stories.
“Is there anyone else we should notify?”
“She’ll get the word to our father. If we’re lucky, he’ll send a card. We don’t know any of his relatives.” Anger and hurt flared in his eyes. “Mom’s mother died three years ago. Grandpa’s in an assisted living place with dementia. There are cousins we don’t know.” He shrugged. “Everyone who needs to know knows. The rest can read it in the paper.”
“You’ve done a lot.” She’d barely accepted the news, and Dixon had been making arrangements. “I feel bad this has been on your shoulders.”
“I had a couple hours’ head start. You’re here now. We’ll do the rest together.”
“Right. So we have to pick photos and write the obituaries...” she repeated, trying to get up to speed, to contribute to the process. “What else?”
“Decide the music and who should speak and in what order.” He studied her face. “You look dead-tired. We can go over all the funeral stuff tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. It’s mostly jet lag,” she said. “I flew in from Norway early this morning for a meeting in L.A., then drove straight here.”
“No wonder you’re wiped out. Go get some sleep.”
“I’m too wired for that.” She smiled sadly. “But I could use a drink.” Her gaze snagged on the ice chest on the floor beside the table. She opened it and took out the champagne, melted ice dripping from the bottle. “Might as well drink this, right?”
“Why not? Sounds practical,” he said with a weary smile. “I’ll get glasses.”
She picked up the flowers. “I should put these in something.”
In the kitchen, Aubrey opened cupboards until she spotted a crystal vase on the top shelf. She was too short to reach it, but Dixon was plenty tall.
She turned to ask for his help, but he was looking at the fridge photos. “This was before they got married.” He tapped a shot of Brianna and Howard at a picnic table. Brianna grinned at the photographer. Howard stared at Brianna with pure adoration. “They thought they had a lifetime together,” Dixon added gruffly.
Aubrey remembered the margarita-stoked conversation she’d had with Brianna when the girls were babies. I just want to get them through college, you know? she’d said. High school was too soon. I wasn’t ready. My core wasn’t solid yet.
You won’t get cancer, Aubrey had insisted. You live a seatbelt life, totally strapped in. Of all the words she could have chosen. Seatbelts hadn’t saved Brianna this time.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” Aubrey said, unable to hide her sadness. “It’s like I lost half of myself. There was so much I should have told her.” I’ll be here more. I miss you, too. I’m sorry I let you down.
“I know what you mean,” Dixon said, his voice husky with emotion. “The last time I talked to Howard I bitched about a report he forgot to finish before the trip.” His eyes were watering now.
“You didn’t know it would be the last time.”
“Howard was the one who raised me after Dad left. I was ten. He was fifteen. I was wild as a kid.”
“You were wild?” He’d seemed like a straight arrow to her.
“Mom blamed me for Dad leaving. I’d been screwing up in school, getting in trouble, but after he left, I ran off the rails. Mom worked days and went out nights, but Howard stayed on me, kept me out of jail and in school. I owe him so much...” His jaw muscle worked. “Working at Bootstrap was a way to pay him back.”
“I’m sure he knew how grateful you were.” Her words seemed so hollow in the face of the pain Dixon was feeling.
“I can’t remember his voice.” Dixon forced the words out. “Or see his face. That’s what’s killing me.”
“I know what you mean. You feel so...alone.”
“Yeah. Alone.”
Then she remembered something from back when her mother died. “The voices and memories come back,” she said. “A grief counselor told us that the shock blanks out your brain for a while. Over time, it all comes back.”
“It does?”
“It happened for me in dreams first. After a while, the happy memories covered over how sick Mom was at the end, and that’s how I remember her now.”
“That’s good,” he said. “I’ll look forward to that.”
She could tell he was about to break down. So was she. “This is so hard.” Dixon must have sensed that she was crumbling, and pulled her into his arms, tucking her against his chest. They held each other tightly, as if for dear life, against the storm lashing them both.
Dixon smelled like citrus and starch, and his heart thudded steadily beneath her cheek, saying, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
She
