if I can find anything that would help explain what happened.”
“Let me know if you do,” he said.
“I will, and, Trey...”
“Yeah?”
“Happy birthday.”
He hurt for the sadness in her voice.
“Thanks. I’m the guest of honor at Mom’s for supper tonight. She’s going all out on my favorite foods.”
“She’s the best when it comes to mothering, isn’t she?”
“Yes. The whole family will be there...except Sam. I would ask you to join us, but...”
“Oh, no, although thank you for thinking of me. I wouldn’t be good company, you know?”
“I figured as much, but would you mind if I came by later tonight and brought you a piece of my birthday cake?”
“Is it going to be Italian cream cake?”
“That’s what she said.”
“I might let you in the door,” she said, and closed her eyes against sudden tears, remembering other birthdays and making out while feeding each other bites of cake.
“That’s great. Then I’ll see you later tonight, and if I get called back to the office, I’ll let you know so you won’t stay up waiting on me to show.”
“Okay, and have a happy birthday, Trey.”
“Thank you, and remember, call if you need me.”
And then he was gone. She wished she’d had something else to talk about just to hear his voice a little longer.
She sat at the table while her coffee got cold, thinking about what to do next. She had been in college when her mother died, and by the time she got home, her dad had already made all the decisions and arrangements. It was hard, this business of dying, and when the question of how it happened was unanswered, it was even harder. It was time to call the preacher.
* * *
It was almost 11:00 a.m. when Betsy took the chicken potpie out of the oven and set it aside to cool as she finished mixing a marinated salad. When Trey called asking her to spread the word that the Phillips family still had eggs to sell, she’d made a couple of calls to start the ball rolling and took it as the opening she needed to pay Dallas a visit, but she wasn’t going empty-handed.
* * *
The fact that Dallas was even in her father’s room was sad all on its own. It smelled like his aftershave, and the toes of his house shoes were poking out from beneath the side of the bed. Her mother’s picture was still hanging on the wall opposite the foot of the bed, the last thing Dick saw at night before he closed his eyes and the first thing he saw when he opened them the next morning.
Salt on an open wound, she thought, and then went to work. Hours later she was still there, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room, surrounded by the past six months of bills and correspondence that he’d kept in a shoe box in the closet. There were no unpaid bills and no letters of any kind that could be construed as troublesome or threatening. The only thing left to go through was her grandfather’s desk, but it was in the living room.
She began putting everything away and was almost done when she thought she heard a car coming up the driveway. She got up quickly, wiping her hands on her jeans as she went down the hall and into the living room. She didn’t recognize the car, but she knew the woman getting out. When she saw that she was carrying food, she felt a moment of panic. There had been a death in the family, precipitating an influx of visitors and the bringing of food. She combed her fingers through her hair and hoped she didn’t look like she’d been crying.
* * *
Betsy’s hands were full as she came up the steps, but she didn’t have to knock. Dallas was standing in the doorway.
Betsy hesitated. “I hope you don’t mind that I came without calling.”
Dallas shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I’m glad to see you. Come in.”
Betsy stepped across the threshold. “Okay if I put this stuff in the kitchen for you?”
“Of course,” Dallas said. “Follow me.”
“This is chicken potpie, and it’s still hot,” Betsy said, as she walked over to the stove and put the covered pie plate onto an unlit burner. “This is marinated salad. You’ll need to refrigerate it.”
Dallas peeked in at the potpie as Betsy set the salad on the counter.
“It looks wonderful. Thank you for thinking of me,” Dallas said, and when she looked up, Betsy was crying.
“I’m so sorry,” Betsy said, as she put her arms around Dallas and gave her a hug. “I would give anything for this not to have happened.”
It was the sympathy that got to her. Dallas dissolved into a fresh set of tears.
“Oh Lord, me, too. I can’t believe he’s gone,” Dallas said. “I’m sorry you were the one who found him.”
Betsy shuddered, despite her intent not to go there with Dallas.
“Come sit down with me,” Betsy said, as she took a seat at the kitchen table.
Dallas pulled out a chair and joined her.
“Is there anything I can do?” Betsy asked.
“Not unless you know something about Dad that I don’t. I’ve been going through his things all morning looking for answers, trying to find something that will explain this madness, but so far, nothing.”
“How are you going to handle the funeral services? Will you wait for—”
“No waiting,” Dallas said. “I’ve scheduled a memorial service for the day after tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. When they finally release his body, he’ll be buried beside Mom without further ceremony.”
Betsy nodded. “I think that’s a good decision. So, if you’re having a morning service, you’ll have the family meal here at the house afterward, right?”
“I guess,” Dallas said, wiping tears and blowing her nose. “I can’t get from one decision to the next without coming undone.”
Betsy reached across the table and took her hand.
“Will you let me help? You can just be present. Let me deal with the food and the people. Consider me your hostess for the day, okay?”
Dallas squeezed Betsy’s hand. “I accept, and gladly. Dad has an elderly aunt in Michigan who won’t be attending, but I have to call and let her know. I have a few cousins scattered about the country, but have no idea how many, if any, will come. Mom has two sisters still living. I’ll call them and let them notify the rest of the family, but I really don’t expect many to show. They’re all so far away.”
“You
