Page 38 of Back to You
Growing somber, she jabbed a finger in my direction. “Now I don’t want you crying over me when I’m gone, you hear? No use crying over spilt milk. I want you to remember all the good times we had, and I don’t want some big stink of a funeral. A simple cremation will do, but don’t keep me in a fancy urn. No. I want you to scatter my ashes someplace beautiful. Can you do that for me?”
I’d smiled sadly and nodded. “Of course, Gran.”
“You’re a good boy, Hollister. Now enough with the tears. Life is meant to be lived to the fullest, so what do you say about going out for lunch, hmm? My treat.”
True to my word, I did as she asked.
A week after the small service we’d held for Grandma Gin, her ashes were returned to us in a quaint black box alongside a handwritten card, offering condolences for my loss. A few tears squeezed out before I could wipe them away with the back of my hand. I sat the little black box down on the kitchen counter and smiled through the pain.
“Welcome home, Gran.”
There was a knock on the door. I patted the box fondly. “I’ll get it.”
“Hey, boy.” Abby stood on the front step, holding a foil-covered ceramic dish in both hands. “I brought you something,” she said. I felt the waterworks start up all over again. “Oh, Hollister, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you cry! I thought maybe you’d be hungry for a home-cooked meal.”
“You don’t cook,” I pointed out.
She smiled. “Duh. I had Mum make it. Can I come in? I can’t stay long, what with work and all.”
“Of course. It’s good to see you. Sorry I suck as a friend.”
She elbowed me in the side on her way past. “Oh, shut the hell up. You’re in mourning. I get it.” She set the casserole dish on the counter next to the sink, then peeled back the foil. “Not exactly something savory, but I know how much you love sweets, so I had Mum make her amazing cherry cobbler.”
“Aw, Abby…”
“Don’t cry,” she pleaded before throwing her arms around my neck. She hugged me so tightly I thought my head might pop off and hit the ceiling. What a mess that would be. I barked out a nearly-hysterical laugh, then squeezed her back. We stood like that, holding onto each other as if our very lives depended on it, for what seemed like forever.
She let me go to dab at her eyes. “You’re making me cry, damn it. I swear if my mascara runs, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m just… I guess I’m still in shock. I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“Me too. Where’s Dane? He’s pretty much been glued to your side since it happened.”
“I sent him to the store. We’re out of everything but some cheese and a half-gallon of questionable milk. We’ve been living off fast food and donuts.” Not that I’d had much of an appetite…until now. The dessert in the dish smelled of tart cherries and cinnamon. My stomach gurgled.
Abby grinned. “Here, take a bite of this.” She nudged the dish a little closer to me. Why not? I grabbed a serving spoon out of the silverware drawer, then took a big bite of Abby’s cobbler. It was gooey and sweet, with rich brown sugar crumbles and walnuts on top. I hummed my satisfaction. She giggled. “Told ya. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s great.” I took another bite for good measure. “Compliments to the chef.”
“I’ll let her now. I gotta run, boy, but text me and tell me how Dane likes it.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, then leaned up on her tip-toes to smooch me on the cheek. “Take care, Hollister, and remember, I’m just a phone call away.”
“I love you, Abs,” I told her.
“You’d better,” she sang back.
Alone in the house once more, I covered the cobbler back up with the tin foil, then tucked it away on top of the fridge, so Custard wouldn’t help himself to our dessert.
I felt bad for the cats. They kept wandering the halls, meowing mournfully for their human. Mrs. White hadn’t so much as budged off of Grandma Gin’s pillow since the night she died. It made my heart ache because I knew they were waiting for her. They didn’t understand that she wasn’t coming back.
My phone rang. I jumped up to grab it, hoping to see Dane’s number pop up on the screen. I suddenly needed to hear his voice, but it wasn’t him. It was a number I didn’t recognize, but it was local so I decided to answer it. “Hello?”
“Is this Hollister Bay?” came a nasally voice on the other end of the line.
I scrunched up my nose. “Yeah, this is him.”
“Hello, this is Dawn Schubert from S&A Law. I’m calling concerning Virginia Wesley’s will. Could you come down to the office sometime before four? There are matters we need to discuss.”
I didn’t even know Grandma Gin had a will. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
