Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
CHAPTER
31
You look good.” I smile. It’s sad that it’s probably the first time I’ve given my mother a compliment in . . . Well, maybe it’s the first one ever. And she’s lying in a casket for it. Dead. Even sadder is that it might also be the first time our conversation doesn’t end in an argument. Unexpected tears fill my eyes, and I sniffle them back.
It feels like I should say a prayer. She’d like that. I probably wouldn’t have given that to her when she was alive, but somehow it feels okay to do now. Maybe it’s because I’m doing it on my terms; I’m not being forced. My eyes drop to the floor in front of the casket. There’s a kneeler, a cushioned block of wood to rest your knees. But hell will freeze over before I’m ever in that position again. Sorry, Mom. I bow my head, close my eyes, and whisper the Hail Mary.
A few moments later, there’s a light knock at the door. Kenny Chapman steps into the viewing room.
“How is everything?” he asks. “Is there anything you’d like changed before visiting hours begin?”
“No. They did a really good job on her hair and makeup. She looks pretty. At peace.”
“Excellent.” He nods. “An early guest has arrived, as well as a florist with a delivery, but we still have a couple of minutes, so I’ll let you have this time with your mother alone.”
I look over at Mom, take a deep breath, and shake my head. “It’s okay. You can let them in. I’m done.”
“Very well.”
A florist carries in a big white cross made of roses. I’m still standing at the casket, watching them set it up, when Father Preston walks up and joins me. Where did Kenny Chapman go? Is it too late to change my mind and say I’d rather be alone?
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Elizabeth. Your mother was a wonderful woman, a devout member of Saint Matthew’s.”
I nod, manage to mumble a thank-you. I’m going to need to get better at this if I’m going to survive today.
Father Preston turns and faces me head-on. “I came by to visit Theresa the other morning. We had a long talk, and I promised her I would speak to you.”
“About what?”
“Your mother would really like you to attend confession.”
I feel my heart skip a beat. “Why? What did she tell you?”
“She expressed concern about your relationship with Christ. Many times when people veer away from their faith, it’s because our bond with God is broken by our sins. Confession allows us to seek true forgiveness and repair that connection.” He searches my face. “Everyone sins. Big or small. Even I go to confession, Elizabeth.”
“Really? And what do you have to confess?”
“That’s between me and the Lord.”
“Then why is it that I have to tell my sins to you?”
A few people wander into the back of the room. I recognize one as Mom’s neighbor. “Excuse me. I should greet people.”
Father Preston reaches out, rests a hand on my arm, stopping me. “There is no sin that can’t be forgiven when you’re truly ready to repent, Elizabeth.”
I frown and shake my head. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
The next few hours are a blur. A sea of people come and go—Mom really did need the double room. People from church, neighbors . . . It seems like most of the town is here at some point. The polite smile glued on my face is starting to hurt, so I’m grateful when someone walks in that I don’t have to pretend for. Ivy. And she’s alone. I excuse myself from yet another stranger telling me what a wonderful woman my mother was and head straight for my old best friend.
Ivy smiles sadly. “I’m sorry about your mom, Elizabeth.”
“Thanks.” I nod toward the door leading to the hall. “Do you think we can talk?”
“Sure.”
Kenny Chapman and a dowdy woman in a black suit are manning the front entrance, opening the door for people as they come and go. So I steer us in the opposite direction, to the ladies’ room. Luckily, it’s empty.
“How are you holding up?” Ivy asks.
“Are we talking about my mother dying or the chapters?”
“Both.”
“My mother dying, I’ll get through. The other thing, I’m not so sure . . .” I shake my head. “It’s been difficult.”
“So you’ve received more?”
I nod. “Five chapters so far.”
“And everything in them is accurate?”
“Down to room number 212.”
The color drains from Ivy’s face. “Oh my God. Who can it be and what do they want?”
Her reaction makes me 99.9 percent sure she isn’t behind this. But I need more than that. I need to be absolutely certain. I lean in, lock eyes with her. “Is it you, Ivy? I need to know.”
“What?” Her face twists. “Of course not. Why do you keep asking me that? Why the hell would I dredge up the past? I have as much to lose as you, if not more. My husband thinks I’m a good person.” She pauses for a few seconds, her mouth opening and shutting, then opening and shutting again, as if she has something to say but isn’t sure if she should.