The building was dark, except for the night-lights, and she left it that way as she went down the hall to her office. Once inside, she turned on the overhead lights, turned up the thermostat, and got to work.
At first it was difficult to focus, because she kept thinking of her mother. There was no longer anyone to call for advice—no shoulder to cry on.
Her mother had been failing and they’d all been so wrapped up in their own lives that they hadn’t noticed something was wrong until she began to lose weight, and the bottles of pills on the kitchen counter grew from two to seven, and then more. And then she’d told them she was dying, and to let her be. She’d wanted to stay in her home until she dropped.
They were all in denial and let her call the shots when there were days she was too weak even to feed herself. The house was let go. The laundry piled up. And they’d ignored the dust and pretended the situation would resolve itself.
They were stupid…and selfish, and Birdie felt horrible.
They’d taken their mother’s presence for granted. They’d taken her for granted. And so her mama had sent for Hunt. It made Birdie feel sad that they’d failed their mother and their brother, and she still didn’t fully understand why it had happened.
Then she glanced at the clock and got down to business. Emma would call when she was ready to go to the funeral home, but until then, Birdie had work to do.
* * *
Junior Knox was still asleep when his phone rang. He woke abruptly, thinking it was the hospital calling about their mom, and then remembered she was already gone. He rolled over and grabbed the phone.
“Hello?”
“Junior, it’s me. Did I wake you?”
“Hi, Emma. Yeah, but that’s okay. So what’s up? Did you go by Mom’s last night? Was Hunt there?”
“I went by but he wasn’t there. His motorcycle was at the bed-and-breakfast,” Emma said.
“Oh, well then,” Junior said. “So, what do we need to do?”
“I’m not sure. But I just got a text about the reading of Mama’s will. Mr. Butterman is holding it at his office tomorrow morning at nine. We’re all supposed to be there.”
“Yeah, okay. I guess that means Hunt, too.”
“I guess.”
“Are we supposed to tell him?” Junior asked.
“Butterman just asked me to let the three of you know, and that’s all I’m doing. Hunt is not my responsibility.”
Junior was silent a little too long. Emma knew immediately what he was thinking, and it made her mad.
“Don’t go getting a conscience at this late date,” she said. “You were fine with it fifteen years ago, and you will still, by God, be fine with it now. Tell Ray about the reading. I’ll tell Birdie.”
“Yeah, yeah, I will. Calm down,” Junior muttered.
“Calm down? Really?” Emma snapped, then hung up in his ear.
She was in a mood now and didn’t want to go to the funeral home in this state, so she went to the kitchen, popped a coffee pod into her coffee maker and pressed Start. She needed food in her stomach before she faced this day, so she put a couple of frozen waffles in the toaster.
Gordon had gone to Granny’s Country Kitchen to hang out with the other guys who were home from work today. They had time to kill before all the football games began, and for a while, Emma had the house to herself. If she was lucky, Gordon would go to his buddy’s house and watch the games on the new 65-inch HDTV they had given themselves for Christmas. It’s all Gordon had talked about since he found out, and she knew he wouldn’t be happy until they had one, too. Men were such babies. It didn’t occur to her that women were no different. They just had a different set of wants.
Her waffles popped up. Her coffee was done. So she took them to the table and ate in silence, thinking about the upcoming funeral. Thinking about Hunt being back in their lives. She didn’t know where he’d been, but it had changed him. He looked hard—even grim. All she knew was that she didn’t want to stir anything up again, because this Hunt Knox wouldn’t run.
* * *
Birdie had just finished payroll and hit Send, routing the money into the employees’ respective bank accounts via direct deposits. It felt good to know she would not be the cause of anyone suffering a financial hardship—even if only for a day. But now she wasn’t thinking of numbers anymore. She was thinking of Mama again.
She’d been the baby and was still living at home when Ray finally moved out, leaving her and Mama home alone, and she stayed until she turned twenty-one. On the morning of her twenty-first birthday, her mama had come in to wake her up with her special birthday breakfast—a jelly doughnut.
Birdie closed her eyes, still remembering that morning as if it had been yesterday, and her mama’s sweet voice as she woke her up.
“Happy birthday, sugar. This morning you are an adult, and I want you to know that if you ever want to be out on your own, I do not expect you to stay here with me. I’m proud of the woman you’ve become, and I want you to spread your wings and fly. This home is not your forever nest. It’s mine. You do what pleases you now. Find a man who will love you forever, but don’t ever let him control you.”
Birdie sighed. She could almost hear what Mama would be saying to her now.
It’s okay to grieve, but do not bury yourself in my grave. That belongs to me.
Birdie wiped away tears. God, but she was going to miss her. Then she turned off her computer, grabbed her coat and her purse, and left, turning off the lights in her office as she went. She was just getting into her car when her cell phone rang. It was Emma.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Sis, where are you?”
“Just leaving the office. I had to do payroll,” Birdie said.
“I think it’s time we head to the funeral home. I’ll meet you at your apartment to get Mama’s clothes. We can go together from there.”
“Okay, I’ll be on the way there now. See you soon,” Birdie said.
Chapter 3
It was habit that made Birdie turn down the block that would take her past their old house. But when she saw Hunt’s motorcycle there, and the van from Mills Locks, she slowed down, then on impulse braked and pulled up in the drive behind the old pickup to see what was going on.
Cecil Mills was on his knees at the front door, replacing the doorknob, when she walked up the steps.
“Hi, Cecil,” she said.
“Oh, hi, Birdie. Hunt’s inside.”
“Thanks,” she said, and slipped by him as she went inside, then paused in the living room and called out. “Hello?”