Page 70 of Honey Bun
I stood and went to the galley and found an apple. I grabbed one as my mother said behind me, “I’ll try.” I showed her the apple, and she nodded, so I handed it to her and then grabbed another for me.
We returned to our seats and ate in silence. Soon, we’d be back in Montana. The drive back to New York had taken days, and I’d been afraid of filling my tank, as we were two females traveling alone. Now, I was in the lap of luxury and comfort.
My mother carried our stuff to the sink. I helped her clean up, though we didn’t need to wash anything. As we finished, she said, “Can I ask a different question?”
I waved for us to sit as the pilot signaled that we needed to be sitting down with seat belts buckled. We buckled in, and I said, “Sure. What?”
She sat back and closed her eyes. “Why did you name your daughter after a cartoon princess?”
A laugh escaped me. This might be the first time in years I’d laughed near my mom—if it had ever happened. As we descended, I said, “I didn’t. She’s named after the dawn. It’s the moment when light breaks through darkness. It’s the prettiest sight to see during the day and has always whispered to me that if light can pierce dark like that, then no matter what’s going on with me, it’s all going to be okay.”
Neither of us said a word while we were landing, but once the tires slowed down, my mother said, “I didn’t teach you that.”
I stood. Outside was the town car. I waited for the staff to open it. “No one did. It’s just one of those things I picked up, and I want my daughter to always have the power to see both sides and choose for herself.”
“You’re a good mom.” She flinched.
I whispered, “You were the only one I had who cared about me.”
The cold air whipped us in the face, and silence fell as we raced to the black town car. My mother smiled at me as we rode to the attorney’s office first so I could sign everything. All was set, and we were done fast. Apparently, Bob had never changed his paperwork, and I was the beneficiary, not Aurora. I signed and forwarded all further paperwork to my address and to Jeff. When I went home, I would have him set up the money in a trust for my daughter.
Once we were finished, we hurried to the funeral home. Aurora had been firm about not wanting Bob’s ashes, but cremation was the most efficient solution. I would leave him in the grounds of his church forever and be done.
However, as I rushed into the funeral home to pay, the short blond woman who had once made me flinch stepped in front of me. The hypocrite had had no qualms about taking my life, but I needed to thank her. She’d sat in the front row of church and pretended to be pious even though she’d been sleeping with my husband.
She lifted her chin as if she ruled the world. “How dare you show your face here.”
Silence gripped my throat. I couldn’t speak for a second.
My mother edged forward. “Who are you?”
“I’m Evelyn.” She pressed her hand to her heart.
I refused to let her or anyone stop my words or prevent my happiness. I said, “Bob’s girlfriend.”
She let out a huff. “Fiancée. And you shouldn’t be here.”
My mother made atsksound she’d perfected during years of service for the church. “I heard about you from Reverend Jerry, young lady. Now I know what the adulteress who lied about my daughter’s goodness looks like.”
Evelyn’s eyes turned red. “Excuse me?”
The last person who needed to fight my battles was my mom, but her standing up for me felt nice. I gripped her arm. “Mom, stay out of this.”
She patted my hand. “You handle your business, honey. I’ll ensure that the trash stays out of your way.”
Wow.I hadn’t been “honey” since I was ten.
I turned to face the last reminder of my past. I opened my lips to tell her to leave, but then I stopped. She’d cared about Bob, and I… I didn’t care. This was my last day in this town.
I let out a sigh. “Evelyn, do you want his ashes?”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
I nodded. She could have all the memories of Bob. “My daughter doesn’t want me to bring him home, and you said you loved him. I was going to drop his ashes around the church, but you can have him if you want.”
Her mouth widened as if I’d said something shocking. “Doesn’t want? What kind of daughter did you raise?”
Once upon a time, her words would have stung, but I was done being judged. I didn’t care what she thought, and I would never see her again. “You don’t even have children, and if you ever do, then you’ll learn how to parent. You can pick up the ashes when you’re ready. I’m on my way back to New York.”
