Page 106 of To Belong Together
“We’ve got to have an interview with you recorded and tracks for ‘Wreckage’ laid by end of day Tuesday.” Tim spoke with emphasis that implied he’d already stated the information once.
A tight timeline, considering “Wreckage” was still giving them problems. John nodded, pretending he’d heard the first time, and read the text.
Judging by your toast for Kate, you’re surprisingly good at speeches for a guy who doesn’t like to talk. Advice for the eulogy?
Even if he had advice, the heavy topic deserved more than a text.Let me think about it.
He slid the phone back onto the table.
Erin’s question required a phone call, which he’d gladly deliver after the band wrapped up for the day, but he wouldn’t go over there. He didn’t need the temptation.
If only Erinhad seen Dad read something other than an owner’s manual or the newspaper, she could borrow what John had done for his sister by taking inspiration for a speech from a beloved piece of literature.
The best an owner’s manual would supply was a joke or two.
She didn’t feel like joking in the eulogy, but Dad wouldn’t want her to be all gloom.
She’d better jot down the snatch of an idea before she forgot it. She slid a box packed full of her clothes onto her kitchen table, an unplanned pitstop on her way outside. A notepad lay on the counter, blank. She took a pen to the top line.
Joke. Owner’s manual.
While she was here, she could add something more meaningful … but nothing came to mind.
Some eulogy writer she was.
She glanced at her phone, but the notification light hadn’t blinked in the hour since John’s quick reply.
If only she had started writing this eulogy the day she’d learned of his death, she might’ve had enough time to create something meaningful.
She sniffled. Tears had become first nature.
Exhausting and unhelpful.
She blew her nose and pushed herself back to work.
After depositing the box of clothes in the trunk of her car, she returned to her room and packed another one. One benefit of moving in with Mom was that she could relocate her belongings at her leisure.
The sound of an engine cutting out drew her to the window.
Perhaps John had come in person to answer her text?
Instead of the clean, low lines of his car, her gaze fell on an old pickup. A man she didn’t recognize hauled afor salesign from the bed of the truck.
The listing was public now.
She would lose some independence with this move, but selling and moving were good choices.
She stepped back from the window.
On her way to the basement for more boxes, she paused at the counter and commanded herself to write the first thing that came to mind.
Nothing surfaced.
She couldn’t boil down Dad’s life and all he’d meant to her on a piece of paper. Tears washed her eyes again, so she dropped the pen and resumed packing.
At five o’clock, her bedroom was mostly cleaned out. She settled with her laptop on the couch and searched for an article on writing a eulogy. This was more likely to end in emotional wreckage than a completed speech, but what choice did she have?
She wiped away tears as she worked through the first step of an article titledHow to Write a Eulogy for Your Father. Following the suggestions, she produced the first paragraph.
