She didn’t need to follow close. She knew the route. It could be over tonight if she located the “item,” but she hoped it wouldn’t. She was enjoying the work again, and her new youth.
One mile down, a left into the development. Erin went straight, she followed, waited a beat before she broke off left again. It was a new community. High-end modern country homes with river-rock foundations, crowned with wooden plank second stories. In every driveway a car that based over thirty-grand. At the center of the development, a pool and a clubhouse. Money.
They think money isolates. I’m here. Nothing isolates.
Lydia pulled into the clubhouse parking lot directly across from the house. A Toyota Corolla ticked and pinged in the driveway. She reached across the bench seat for her satchel when she noticed another car slow and pull in beside the Corolla.
Kristy. The base of her neck crackled with a sting. Not optimal. She needed Erin alone.
Kristy emerged from the drivers side in her work clothes and small bag slung over her shoulder. Locking the door, she walked up the short ‘j’-shaped front sidewalk and rang the bell.
Lydia waited. Seconds later, an exhausted Erin opened the door, both disappearing inside.
What to do. Her half-lidded eyes stared through the front wall. She saw the entire home, picturing them in the kitchen pouring wine, getting ready to sort through belongings.
She reached into her bag and fingered the grip of her M9. She slid her hands up to the heavy silencer. Cold steel on her soft palm instantly centered her. If things were different, she would put an end to Erin’s grieving. The delicious thought brought the first wave of sweat. How lovely that would be. There’s nothing quite like that moment of disbelief in the eyes of the almost dead. She cracked her window for cool air. She needed to be powdery for her entrance.
Just then, Kristy came back out the front door, Erin lingering on the porch.
“Thank you, but really I am not hungry …“
“I don’t care if you’re hungry, Erin. You have to eat something! Don’t do anything until I get back from Zio’s.”
Perfect.
Lydia waited for the red brake lights to make the right out onto the main drag. With one final check in the mirror, she pushed the creaky driver’s-side door open. Glancing around, she looked for any signs of notice. No one.
Satisfied, she walked imperfectly across the fifteen feet of manicured sod to the street. Each step turned up ‘Lydia’ a notch. Fully in her role by the front porch, she rang the bell. The same interval passed and Erin glanced through the sidelight. The door opened.
“Can I help you?”
“Erin? Please forgive the intrusion—especially at a time like this. My name is Lydia Knox and I’m with your mom’s church, Church on the Wall?” She reached out her hand toward Erin. Erin took it.
“Oh-well I don’t know if they know but my mom actually just … ”
“I know. I know. I am so very sorry. That is why I am here. I am a grief counselor with Good Grief services, and we work with the Church. It’s a tremendously sensitive time, this close to her passing, and—no pressure—I am here to sit with you, bring you something to eat, help you with any arrangements; just give you support—anything you need.”
“Um … oh—I don’t know if I need any of those things honestly. I am just now beginning to clear my head about it all.” Erin let out an exhausted sigh glancing backward into the house. “Forgive me—Lydia? Please, come in it’s crispy out here.”
“Thank you Erin.” Idiot. You’re mine now.
8
“Please sit,” Erin gestured to the over-stuffed couch. “I’m sorry you came all the way out here. I can’t even remember where I put my coat five minutes ago, let alone figure out what I may or may not need.”
“That is common, Erin. It is exactly what you should be feeling. I imagine the waves of disbelief are also a challenge.”
Erin’s eyes brimmed as she looked at her shoes. “Yes. Exactly.” Then up, “But my point is-thank you, but I am in a fog right now, and I am doing the only thing I ever know to do when I’m upset—cleaning and organizing.”
Lydia smiled. “Your mother taught you that.”
“Yes—yes she did.” Erin smiled back for a second.
“Mine did too. It’s very Irish.”
“It helps. At least I think it does.”
Oh, it does. It does.
Lydia glanced around the room. In the far corner by the fireplace, empty cardboard boxes were strewn haphazardly. She remembered reaching her latexed hand up that flue just behind the firebrick. Nothing. To the left in front of the built-in bookcase were the drawers from Liz’s dresser, tenuously stacked on top of each other, clothes spilling out.
“It’s a mess. And it’s just started.” Erin sighed.
“No—it’s not bad at all, Erin. This is the hard part, and from the looks of it, you are already more organized than most. I wish all of my clients approached the sorting out this way. Tell me about your process? How are you organizing your mother’s things?”
“Organizing?” Erin half laughed glancing around, “This is exactly thirty minutes worth of crying and walking through the house not knowing where to start. There is no reason or rhyme to it.”
“It’s overwhelming isn’t it? That is also par for the course.” Lydia let it linger out there as Erin wiped a fresh pool from underneath her eyes. Just enough time to feign spontaneity. “I’ll tell you what—you say you don’t know what you need, but truth is, I do.Let me help you with this. I have done this hundreds of times with other mourners, and I’m told I am a life saver.” Lydia lightened her tone, mimicking the exact amount of concern and lilt of a long-time friend. “Tell me which room is most overwhelming?”
“Oh no—I couldn’t do that—I …”
“Erin—this is what I am called to do,” with her best expression of earnestness, “please don’t deny me this opportunity to serve you and fulfill my role. I am delighted to help out in any way I can.”
“Well-honestly, I have a friend—Kristy—who is going to help me. In fact she is probably making her way back here with some take-out. Really, you don’t need to do that.”
“Would you rather I wait for Kristy, see what she would like to do?” Kristy. She is now a bother.
Indecision tugging, Erin caved to kindness. “No—I guess there can’t be too many hands in a house this size. I am certain that almost everything in the basement can go to Goodwill or the trash—unless…”
“Unless it contains obvious memorabilia or family china—things like that?”
“Yes.”
“Listen—if you have some masking tape, or a magic marker, I will go through the boxes or whatever and tag them with a short description of their contents. When I am done, you come down and tell me what to do with each box—how does that sound?”
Relief loosened Erin’s forehead. “Good. I feel bad about this though—“
“Erin—please—I mean it—do not feel bad. This is what I am called to do, okay.” Come down there with me.
9
The smell of ricotta and garlic made Kristy’s stomach growl. If she could reach the bag on the floor, she would’ve eaten a ‘belly-bomb’ at the first stoplight. Comfort food. She would have to find a way to get Erin