“Legacy,” she practically whispered, setting my nerves on edge.
“Hi,” I greeted, unsure how to speak, to be honest. “I, uh, I need to bury my mom and stepfather.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she began, but it felt rehearsed. It made me feel ill. “We recommend coming in for a consultation. We’ll take very good care of you,” she offered quickly when I didn’t answer right away.
“Uh, I don’t have much money. I was calling to see what my cheapest options are.”
“I understand,” she said, “of course. Our cheapest options start around five thousand.”
Two tears slipped down my face. “Each?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I will never be able to come up with that, I thought.
“I see.”
“Would you like to set up an appointment?” she asked.
“No, uh, I’ll never be able to afford that. Is that standard?” I asked.
“That’s very reasonable, yes, ma’am.”
“I see,” I said, overwhelmed.
“And you don’t do anything cheaper than that?” I asked, feeling ashamed.
There was a pause. “No, ma’am.”
“So what do people do when they can’t afford to bury their family?”
She lowered her voice. “Many people look into cremation. If you work directly with the crematory, you can work out a more affordable option, usually around a thousand dollars.”
Two more tears fell. “Okay, thank you so much,” I told her.
“You’re welcome,” she said, her voice softer, kinder. “Good luck to you and, again, I’m so sorry,” she told me, but that time I thought she meant it.
“Thank you,” I choked out and hung up the phone.
“How much?” Ansen asked.
“She said I could work with a crematory directly and that it would be about a thousand dollars.”
“But that doesn’t include burial or services or anything?” Katie asked.
I shook my head, afraid if I spoke, I’d break down completely.
“I see,” Katie said, unable to offer more.
“I can’t afford any of that,” I told them.
“My great-uncle, when my great-aunt died, couldn’t afford to bury her and the county arranged something. It was a state-run cemetery, I think,” Ansen said.
I nodded, wondering what in the world I was going to do.
Someone knocked on the front door, so I carefully wedged out from underneath a sleeping Callie and cracked open the door.
Trace.
I stepped out onto the porch and closed the door.
“It’s a bad time, Trace,” I whispered.
“Listen,” he said, running a hand through his hair, “about the pictures.”
“Trace, that is so far off my radar right now. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Listen, Lily, I didn’t really know what I was doing or whatever—” he tried to appease.
“Trace,” I said, fighting tears, “I’m barely holding it together. My mom a-and Sterling died last night and I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to keep my sisters alive and myself from falling off the deep end. I’ll talk to you later.”
All the color drained from his face. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, yeah, I’ll catch you later then.”
He bounded off the porch and I turned back toward the door, sneaking back inside.
“Who was that?” Katie asked.
“Trace,” I answered and sat back down, placing a still-sleeping Callie back on my lap.
“Asshole,” she whispered. “What did he want?”
“Wanted to talk about the pictures. D-did you hear about them?” I asked her. She nodded once. “I sent him away.”
She nodded her head again. I laid my own on the back of the couch.
“Go to sleep,” she said. “Ansen and I will be here. We’ll take care of you guys.”
I faced her and two tears slipped down my cheeks. “Thank you,” I whispered.
***
I woke to Ansen tapping my shoulder. He held my phone toward me. “It’s the coroner,” he offered.
He took Callie off my lap and laid her to the side. I stood, my bones literally cracking; my muscles felt heavy and sore. I took the phone and went to the front porch again. It’d grown dark, which represented something different but just as awful as the light had proved.
“Hello?” I asked, my voice deep from crying.
“Yes, is this Lily Hahn?” a woman’s voice asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, already crying.
“I’m Dr. Sonia, the coroner for Smithfield,” she introduced herself. Her voice was soft and quiet. “I’ve completed the autopsies and just need you to come confirm identity.”
My heart stopped. “What? Why?” I asked her.
“It’s procedure, Miss Hahn. I’m so sorry.”
“Let me have the address?” I asked.
She told me where I needed to go and I hung up. Katie came outside to check on me and I reached my hand out to her.
“What do we need to do?” she asked.
“I have to identify my mama, Katie.”
Katie started crying and she brought me close, hugged me tight.
“She’s dead because of me,” I sobbed.
Katie shook her head against my neck. “Stop it, Lily. Stop it.”
“It’s my fault,” I insisted.
“Stop,” she said. “I refuse to listen to that. Come on,” she continued, opening the front door so I followed her inside.
“I’m taking Lily into Smithfield,” Katie said.
“Why?” Ansen whispered when Eloise stirred.
“She has to identify them,” she explained.
“Maybe I should go?” Ansen asked.
“No,” I was quick to say. “If the girls wake up, I’d rather you be here since they’ve known you forever.”
“Of course,” he said.
He hugged me and kissed Katie and we headed toward Ansen’s car. Katie drove me. It was a silent drive. Deafeningly silent. I listened to the guilt call out to me, pushing me closer and closer to insanity. It was cruel and incessant.
“I might break, Katie. Will you be there with me?”
“Right by your side. I won’t leave you.”
“Thank you,” I told her as we headed toward our exit in Smithfield.
The morgue was cold and sterile and absolutely horrifying. They had me identify Sterling first. He looked like himself but not; it was hard to explain. I confirmed that Sterling was who he was and I felt nothing for him. He meant nothing to me in that moment, absolutely nothing. I didn’t know if that made me a bad person, but it was as natural a response as it could have possibly been.
Dr. Sonia silently walked to the back of the room and gestured to another body lying on a table. I gripped Katie’s arm as we followed her over. When we reached the body, draped with a clean, crisp white sheet, I nearly vomited. I could follow the outline of my poor mama’s face, could see the lines of her worn shoulders. Those shoulders cared for me, cared for my sisters, endured Sterling. They carried the weight of the world.
“Are you ready?” Dr. Sonia asked softly.
“Yes, ma’am,” I lied.
As if in slow motion, she tipped the top of the sheet back. I glimpsed my mom’s hair, dark like my natural color, but shorter. When her face was exposed, my breaths came so fast and hard; I felt like I would faint again. Katie wrapped her arm around me tight.
“Is this Cathleen Byrnes?” the doctor asked.
“Yes,” I whispered.
She covered my mom’s face instantly and the nausea doubled. I took deep, short breaths through my nose and Katie steered me toward the door and into the small entry room of the morgue.
“What funeral home will you be going with?” Doctor Sonia asked.
“I-I can’t afford to have someone bury her or Sterling,” I admitted.
Dr. Sonia nodded as if she’d heard it before. “I understand. Are Sterling or your mother ex-military?” she asked, pulling out forms from a filing cabinet.
“Sterling is but Mama is not.”
The coroner nodded once more and reached for another set of papers from another cabinet.
“Take these home,” she said, her voice quiet. “Fill these out,” she said, pointing to one set, “and take them to the courthouse. The address is here,” she said, tapping the top of one of the papers. “These here,” she said, pointing to the next set, “are for past military. The VA usually handles these cases. Fill these out and mail them to the address on the form. They’ll take care of the rest.”
“I see,” I said, my stomach sinking, “thank you.”