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47. The Mourning Star

  I sat alone with the silence, the spacious hotel room feeling tiny, enclosing on me. A tiny slit of light crept through the swaying shades to the window, as I peered out beyond the streets of bustling life around us. Everything felt tight. Squeezed into this city. Squeezed into this predicament. And now...the life squeezed...no, I shouldn’t think like that.

  He was gone...just like that. Tears had dried on my reddened cheeks countless times before, and I knew there were more to spring forth.

  I waited for the dial tone to connect. To guide me what to say....but I knew it wouldn’t.

  “Hello,” a frail voice shakily came through.

  “Mom,” I said, almost whispering.

  Silence came from the other end.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, unsure I could handle the response.

  “I—I don’t know what I am,” she stuttered. “These men called...and then I saw it on the television.” She sighed heavily, the tension coming across the invisible phone lines and tugging around my heart. “Your Father did a job that wasn’t without concern, but I never once thought news would fall upon our doorstep like this.”

  I nodded, though she was unable to see. “I’m sorry,” I added naturally.

  “It’s not your fault, dear. How could it be?”

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  A long moment of quiet hung between us. I knew she was unaware of everything, but it felt otherwise. Perhaps that was my own disappointment with myself, making its somber appearance.

  “We’ll fly him back home for the funeral. What flight will you be on?”

  This was the hard part, knowing I couldn’t leave until we finished this. Couldn’t jeopardize her too. “Um,” I started up timidly. “That may be difficult. My job...” I trailed off, hearing a shock, or a gasp in her voice.

  “Your librarian job is too much to get away from? Too busy to bury your father?” She replied starkly. Under the circumstances, I understood. Didn’t make it any easier though.

  “They won’t allow me,” I said. “I just started.”

  “Don’t these people understand anything about death?!” She chomped. “I’ll give them a piece of my mind!”

  “No!” I pleaded, hoping she wouldn’t call and accidentally blow my cover. “I...want to find a more personal way to remember him.” I added. “Just the two of us...and him.”

  Mom held quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what I’ll even say to these people here when they ask where you are.” She spat out, even more contemptuously.

  “I’m in mourning...” I said, a somber tone filling my voice, as if I wasn't the only one.

  “We all are! It’s a funeral!” Her voice was strained, reaching its limit.

  “We all grieve in different ways.” I retorted.

  “If you hated him, just say it!” She yelled back.

  “I loved him!” I shouted in return.

  Silence filled the air, as if I'd said something unspeakable about the man we all shared a life with. “Well...” she broke in, a quiet to her voice. “I’m glad you did.”

  My heart broke. I sat stunned. “What? Mom?”

  CLICK.

  The phone line went dead.

  Tears streamed down my face, as I sobbed in the darkened room, collapsing to my knees. To mourn alone. A duty I bore to honor his memory, to right the sins of my Father.

  The door creaked open behind me. Padded footsteps closed on me with quiet tenderness.

  Suddenly, Jack’s warm embrace enveloped me. He held on silently, lovingly, for as long as I cried.

  When the tears dried again, he spoke.

  “I have news.” He said, his voice even. “But first,” he took my hand and rose me from the puddle I was on the floor. “I have something else in mind.”

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