Never Come Back

Chapter Twenty-three

A knock on the door of the apartment woke us up the next morning. Our bodies were entwined along with the sheets, and it took several moments for me to figure out what the noise was. Then I dug my way out of the tangle.

“Who’s that?” Dan asked.

“I don’t know.”

And I didn’t. No one ever came to my door. Even Girl Scouts selling cookies and Jehovah’s Witnesses peddling salvation didn’t bother to make the trek up the stairs to where I lived. Which helped make the junkie break-in theory all the more implausible to me. I was out of the way. It would take an ambitious junkie to find my door.

I checked my phone. Seven fifty-one a.m. And I had a message.

But the knock came again. First things first. I found a robe and pulled it on.

“Do you want me to go?” Dan asked.

He was naked, his skin pale and goosefleshed in the morning chill.

“If I scream, come out there,” I said.

“Do I have to get dressed first?”

“That’s up to you.”

I trudged through my newly clean apartment to the front door. I looked out the peephole. The morning light was bright and my vision was still blurry from sleep. It took a moment for the figure to resolve into something clear and coherent. When it did, I saw a young guy not much older than me, wearing a coat and tie. His hair looked to be thinning, and he held an envelope in his hand. He looked familiar.

Cop? I thought. No. Doctor? No.

Who else had I been dealing with? Then I remembered—he was from the funeral home. And unless he was going door-to-door to create new business, I was probably safe.

I opened the door. He looked me over from head to toe. The disheveled hair, bare feet, and robe. His face flushed.

“Oh, excuse me,” he said. “I’m sorry. I called.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I always look like this in the morning.”

He held the envelope toward me. “This is your mother’s death certificate. I was on my way by here…”

“Oh.”

I took it from him.

“You need it to file the will and send the estate into probate. We thought you’d be moving along with those things.”

I hadn’t been, of course. But hearing him say that made me think of the whole list of tasks that needed to be addressed. The will, the house, Mom’s car. I remembered the call from Mom’s lawyer. Clearly other people were eager to move forward as well. Who they were I didn’t know, but it might make sense to start the process.

“Thanks,” I said.

“Was there anything else we can help you with?” he asked.

He looked so eager to serve, so happy to be doing his job. Not the stereotype of the grim mortician at all. I wanted there to be another task, something else that needed to be done on Mom’s behalf.

“And we don’t owe you anything?” I asked.

“That’s all been taken care of as part of your mother’s preplanning,” he said.

“Right. Of course.”

We stood there, the two of us, in the bright morning sunshine. The air was cool. I could feel it on my bare feet.

“So there’s nothing else?” he asked.

“I guess just this,” I said, holding up the envelope.

“Your lawyer will take you through all of that,” he said.

I couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he took that opportunity to turn and head back down the rickety steps. The formal process of burying and saying good-bye to Mom was basically over. It was time to move on.

Dan needed to leave. He needed to go home and get ready for his Friday classes. When he said he’d brought his toothbrush with him, he was lying. He hadn’t anticipated spending the night at all. I told him about the delivery of the death certificate but not the feelings it evoked inside me. I didn’t have to. Dan read my moods as easily as stepping outside to see whether it was night or day.

“What would your mom want you to do?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Would she want you to keep delaying things? Or would she want her estate wrapped up as quickly as possible?”

I knew the answer. When Dan was gone, I called the lawyer. Mr. Allison had an appointment available that afternoon, after I was done with school.

I agreed to it. Then I got ready and left for campus.