10

“It must be strange to be back in your old house,” said Emily as she lifted a box labeled kitchen appliances onto a countertop in Cathy Bishop’s Victorian apartment above the funeral home.

“Doesn’t feel right. Nothing feels right here anymore,” said Cathy, exhaling as she set down a weighty box.

Emily opened bare cupboard after bare cupboard. “Where do you want the dishes? By the sink? Or maybe closer to the kitchen table?”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t be here long.” Cathy stopped and looked at a surprised Emily. “I’m selling the business. House and all.”

Emily’s mouth gaped. “You can’t. It’s been in your family forever.”

“My heart’s not in it. Your father’s funeral was my last. A beautiful bookend to end a satisfying career.”

“That’s so sudden.”

“Not as sudden as you think. Your dad and I were starting to talk retirement. This just seals the deal for me.”

“What will you do?” asked Emily.

“We had been entertaining the idea of going to Arizona. And I still like that plan. I talked to Ben when he was here for your father’s funeral, and he and Lily will host me for the winter. They love it there, and I think I could handle three hundred and sixty-five days of sun.”

Ben was Cathy’s oldest son and Lily was his wife. Ben was five years older than Emily. When her mom had passed, he’d already been a couple of years into college across the country, so they didn’t know each other all that well.

“I can’t see you sitting poolside every day, Cathy.” Emily smiled.

“I’ve always wanted to take up golf. Or tennis. Or—”

“Please don’t say shuffleboard.”

Cathy laughed. “I was going to say aqua aerobics.”

“I am trying to imagine you with a pink swim cap and a bunch of blue hairs splashing around to eighties pop.”

Cathy laughed again and handed Emily a box labeled fridge magnets.

Emily gawked at the label. How many magnets could one fridge hold, exactly?

“Put them back into the moving truck.”

“We just took them out.”

“I know. But I just had a wild hair of an idea. I’m going to drive straight to Phoenix. Today!”

“Cathy, are you sure?”

“What am I waiting for?”

“This is a really big decision to make after just … well, you know what they say about making a big decision after …”

“I know. And I say it all the time to grieving family members. And yet here I am, not taking my own advice. It feels right, Em. Feels like time for a change. Especially with winter setting in soon. I don’t want to be boarded up and gloomy the next six months. Your dad wouldn’t have wanted that either.”

Emily nodded. Come to think of it, she was facing the same plight. She was alone, too, now that Brandon and nuptials were no longer part of her future. This winter she would either be boarded up in her father’s home or all alone in some gloomy studio apartment in Chicago. Neither sounded too inviting at the moment. “Are you going to list it or put out word at the mortuary school?” Emily wondered how difficult it was to sell a funeral home business.

“Hmm, mortuary schools. I hadn’t thought of that. Grab a newbie grad ready to spring fresh into the field. ‘Freeport, perfect place to bury the dead and raise a family.’ This ad is writing itself,” she said, humor lifting her voice. “Great idea, Emily.”

Emily wasn’t pleased that her brainstorm had helped Cathy get one step farther out of Freeport. The Bishop family had been a staple of Freeport for three generations. Why had Ben broken the chain? She wondered if Cathy felt resentment over his choice to become a software engineer at a tech company.

“Now, what’s this about having a new sister? Anna something- or-other?”

“Johnson. So, I take it you didn’t know?”

Cathy shook her head. “Your father never said a peep. I wish he would have. I supposed she might have liked to attend the funeral.”

Emily hadn’t thought of that.

“What does she look like?” asked Cathy.

“I’m not sure.”

“You haven’t Facebook-stalked her, huh?” Cathy asked.

“I’m not on Facebook.”

“Oh, that’s right. Your generation is more into Instagram.”

“I’m not on any of it.”

“Good for you. Waste of time. Have you tried calling her?”

“Working on it,” Emily fibbed. She wondered how quickly she could change the subject.

Cathy turned to face Emily. “You need to call her. Soon.”

“I’m waiting for the right words.”

“The right words, huh? In these kinds of situations, it’s best to be honest and clear. ‘Hi, Anna. I’m your sister Emily. I have something for you from our father that I think you’ll want. When do you want to meet?’”

“Ah yeah … something along those lines.” Emily had always known a more couth Cathy, but she kind of liked this freer version.

“I’m losing my filter, dear. Probably another reason I should retire.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“We both have, but I get to walk away from it. You have your whole career ahead of you,” said Cathy, looking out the open kitchen door into the driveway. “I assume you’ll be heading back to Chicago. So, it looks like with your father’s death, both his legacy and mine are coming to a close.”

“I haven’t decided.” Emily followed her gaze to where the moving truck stood open, stacked floor to ceiling with boxes and furniture. Thank goodness they hadn’t unloaded all of that before Cathy made her declaration to skip town.

“If you leave now, who’s going to take care of the funeral arrangements while you’re waiting on someone else to buy the business?” Bishop and Schulz was the only funeral parlor in Freeport.

“I’ve got a friend who owns a mortuary association in Rock River who might be able to cover,” Cathy said, heading out the door with a box to reload into the moving truck. Emily trudged after her with the magnets.

“I’m gonna give Ben and Lily a call right now and tell them I’m on my way.” Cathy tucked the box securely between two taller ones and wandered back into the house, her cell phone pressed to her ear.

Emily crawled into the back of the truck and found the perfect crevice to nestle the precious magnet collection into where it wouldn’t get smashed. She scanned the boxes of Cathy’s belongings. The world she had grown up with was shifting fast, right out from under her. She knew her father would have supported Cathy’s decision. He would have wanted her to be happy.

Just as Emily was about to jump from the back of the moving truck, her phone rang from the pocket of her jeans. The screen said No Caller ID, but curiosity prompted her to pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hi? Is this Dr. Emily Hartford?”

“Yes, this is she,” she answered in a professional voice. “How may I help you?” Was this one of her patients in Chicago? She tried to place the voice. It was female. Sweet. And a bit apprehensive. In fact, the voice sounded a bit like … her own.

“This is Anna Johnson.”

Emily’s throat went to her gut.

“I’m your … your dad was my … this is so strange. I don’t really know how to put this.”

“I do,” Emily spit out. “You’re my sister.”