Page 96 of Spindrift

Andat the end of each day, she wanted Morgan. She’d have to reckon with thateventually, but for now, at least, she could weep without unraveling.

Itwas a start.

• • •

The buzzof her phone kept her company as she began to sort through the remaining bureaucraticmatters of her father’s estate. She’d had no idea death was so complicated.Bank accounts needed to be closed, as did all the varying insurances, debts,and contracts she hadn’t known her father was involved with. To make thingseven worse, they all wanted proof of death. Repeating the words began to stripthem of their meaning.

“Iam Emilia Russo, executor of Ray Russo’s estate, calling to inform you of hisdeath.”

Perhapsnone of this was real. Perhaps the urn in her bedroom contained someone else’sashes, and her father was merely far away, instead of gone—impossibly—forever.

Shestopped by Stormy’s every day just to get out of the house. The temptation toinvite Morgan over when she texted late after an emergency at three in themorning beat in her throat so fiercely at times that she could barely swallow,but that in itself was enough to stay her hand. She could not afford to needMorgan. Not right now when so much was unsettled.

Soshe gardened. She cleaned. She argued with insurance agents and hospitalbilling departments and poured herself more glasses of wine than was healthy,but she liked watching the sun set through the red glow of merlot while she listenedto her father’s music.

He’dnever gotten into digital music. His CD and vinyl collections took up most ofthe shelf space in the living room, and she played the music he’d loved andheld her dog as Leonard Cohen and Bruce Springsteen filled the house. She’dkeep his music and his guitars because that was who he’d been to her in theend. A voice on the end of a phone line. A remembered lyric. Rough hands onguitar strings, playing softly.

ThenMorgan called her on a hot summer afternoon.

“Hey.”

Herphone moved as her cheeks curved in a smile at Morgan’s voice. It poured intoher, and she felt full and thirsty all at once.

“Heyyourself.”

“We’rehaving a small barbecue for the Fourth if you’re free. I was just informed amoment ago.”

Shehadn’t realized it was already the Fourth of July. Time moved too quickly. Shecovered her sudden panic with words. “That depends. Will you be grilling?”

Adistorted voice shouted something in the background.

“Wasthat Stevie?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Whatdid she say?”

“Nothingrepeatable.”

Thesounds of a scuffle ensued, and then Stevie’s voice, breathless with victory,spoke into her ear. “Hey stranger.”

“Hi,Stevie.”

“Youcoming over?”

“Yourfriend grilling again?”

“Who,Morgan? You know she keeps things hot.”

Emiliawas glad the phone hid her blush. Morgan swore and Stevie yelped, and thenMorgan regained control of her cell.

“Yes.There will be a grill. And food. On it. Cooked by me.”

“ThenI’ll be there. What time?”

“Four?And bring Nell. I’ll let Stevie explain about Dogpocalypse.” There was anotherflurry of static. “Explain when she gets here, you dumbass. I am not lettingyou anywhere near my phone again.”

“Yougot things under control?” Emilia asked.

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