“Fran, it’s Mom and Dad.” Claire’s voice quavered. “Fran, they’re gone.”
Silence. “Gone? Where? For God’s sake, what’s wrong?” Her sister’s voice was steady and demanding.
Claire inhaled and sat on her bed. “Fran, they were killed today.” The words echoed in her head.
“Are you saying they’re dead? Mom and Dad are dead? I don’t understand. How? How, Claire?” Fran’s reserve dissolved for a moment.
“A collision. Right after church. Their attorney called. They…they didn’t suffer, he said.”
“I’m pouring myself a drink. Hold on. Why don’t you join me?”
“No, I’m packing. Catching a plane tomorrow morning.”
“Good thinking.” As usual, her sister, without missing a beat, sounded grounded and more than likely had a plan in place. And as usual, Claire’s only choice was to suck it up and fall in line.
* * *
Claire stopped at the Express Auto rental desk, picked up the keys for her reserved economy car, and was out the door. She wanted to bolt through the parking garage, frazzled from the several cups of coffee consumed during the layover in Chicago. What should have been a couple hours flight to North Carolina had stretched into several. Exhaustion and frustration made her misery more intense, returning home more painful.
She headed down the interstate from Columbus, anxious to get through the thirty-minute drive before her Mill Spring exit appeared. She removed the wrapper from a stick of gum, popping it into her mouth. Enough late-afternoon traffic kept her attention from wandering, and by the time she switched on the turn signal, her heartbeat competed with the radio for airtime. She turned up the volume of an old rock song and tried singing to ignore the thoughts that bounced back and forth. Finally she turned off onto her street and passed the fence corner of the neighbor’s land. Twenty fence posts later, she noticed a green Jeep in the neighbor’s driveway. Not one that remembered.
She stopped at the driveway outside her parent’s home. Everything looked exactly the same. Neatly trimmed hedges lined the driveway bordered by cut grass gleaming golden in the sun. Claire turned in and drove forward, keeping her eyes focused on the Victorian two-story house with gingerbread trim.
She turned off the engine and held the plastic keychain of the rental car. No one would come out. No one would be here to welcome her home. If she didn’t get out of the car soon, she’d suffocate. She opened the car door and swung around for her purse on the passenger seat.
A dog barked. She didn’t know whose, but the dog sounded near. She walked, one foot after another up the steps. Her eyes stung and she blinked. Baskets of red geraniums hung over the white porch railing. Two wicker rocking chairs sat unmoving. It was enough to make her heart break.
A manila envelope with her name printed on the outside leaned against the door. It was from Bob—the estate papers he’d said would be waiting. She tucked the envelope under her arm. The door was locked. Of course, it wouldn’t be open. She fished inside her purse for her keys and her eyes grew misty.
* * *
She sat up, startled, under a blanket of white documents. She’d fallen asleep reading the legal paperwork that had been filed, opening a probate estate case with the city courthouse. Everything was in order. Her parents had even typed up their own obituaries, which she read and reread, unable to believe they were so prepared for this moment.
Bob had provided a list of instructions for Fran and her to follow. Her parents had assigned each other as executor not expecting to…she chocked back a sob. Someone needed to be the executor. She supposed Fran would want that role. The list had names of who was to do what, and there were more open spaces marked “Family” than she was prepared to undertake, given her limited knowledge of estate planning.
She went over to her suitcase and pulled out a nightgown. She threw it on before she went back to looking through the file. Inside her parents’ home, she was too hot to concentrate. Claire waved the sheets of papers, trying to create a breeze. She’d forgotten how warm it could get at night. Insects crashed against the window. She tossed the stack of papers on top of the bed before padding across the floor.
She tugged at the closed window. She hunched her shoulder against the wooden frame. It was like lifting the side of the house.
To this day there were no air conditioners in the house. She didn’t imagine her mother had ever entertained the idea of central air or heat. Sweat trickled down her neck as she pushed, shoved, and banged on the wooden frame. The glass rattled and pieces of peeling paint fell away, but the window didn’t budge.