Page 1

Chapter 1

Robin

Ticktock.

The sound of the massive antique clock ticking is the only indicator that any time has passed today. I stare at the giant monstrosity that hangs in the lobby and wonder how I will survive another three hours of my workday. The incessant ticking in an otherwise endless sea of silence seems like a taunt. There is nobody else around; even the streets outside are too quiet.

Ticktock. Ticktock.

I take a deep breath and force myself out of my current stupor. I need to be productive. I look around my desk and wonder if there is anything I’m supposed to be doing. Everything on my daily to-do list has been dutifully crossed off, all emails are answered, and the phone has been suspiciously, but peacefully, quiet all day.

I get up to stretch, my torso draping over my thighs as I touch my toes, exhaling deeply.

Ticktock. Ticktock.

Why is it so quiet today?

When I moved to Cottondale, I found exactly the quiet reprieve I was looking for. The job at the funeral home seemed important and rewarding. The town is on the smaller side, but it’s still big enough for me to feel a sense of anonymity. And although I’m still happy with my decision, I can’t help but feel stuck in life. Most days, I ignore that feeling and busy myself with life and work and whatever else I can find to distract myself. But some nights, when I sit on my tiny front porch and hear nothing but the crickets chirping, I get a deep sense that something is still missing from my life.

Just as I’m about to sit back down at my desk after my little stretching session, the front doorbell rings. I startle at the noise, the first sound I’ve heard in hours other than that devilish clock.

I briefly look down to see if my clothes need adjusting. I straighten my white button-down shirt and comb through my hair with my fingers before quickly striding across the room and opening the door.

An elderly woman who appears to be in her mid-seventies, with short salt-and-pepper hair, stands in front of me. Her tiny frame barely reaches my shoulders. Her clothes are immaculate, and although it’s a hot summer day, she has a lavender silk scarf tied around her neck. Her fragrant floral perfume hits my nose before I can even say hello.

“Good afternoon, and welcome to Cottondale funeral home,” I say with a well-practiced smile on my face.

“Yes, good afternoon to you too, my dear. Please let me in. Not all of us have decades left to live,” she mutters, quickly hurrying past me into the lobby.

I’m stunned by her tone, but I swiftly close the door behind us and usher her toward the seating area.

“Please, sit down. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you.” She sits down on the mahogany loveseat with a deep sigh, her feet dangling comically above the ground.

I take a tentative seat across from her on a rather unyielding wooden chair. “How may I help you today, Mrs. …?”

“Mrs. Williams. And I would like for you to plan my funeral.”

There is a moment of silence as I try to come up with an appropriate answer. “Your funeral, Mrs. Williams?”

“Yes, mine. I’d like to have it in about two months. Can you do that for me?”

Confusion must be written across my face, because she continues. “You do plan funerals here, right? Maybe I have lost my marbles, but my doctor assured me I am of very sound mind. So, I am at the funeral home, yes?”

I quickly recover. “Yes, we do plan funerals. And we often preplan them if the person is, well, still with us,” I hastily clarify. “We can make the necessary arrangements so that, when the day comes, everything will be set and ready for the family. If there is, um, a certain situation that would suggest this day is in the near future, I can make sure you get an appointment with our funeral director, Tom, this week to get things organized quickly.”

Most people schedule an appointment before they come in for planning with questions they might have, and Tom usually conducts these meetings.

“No, sweetheart, I do not want Tom organizing this funeral. I’ve known him for years, and as sweet as he is, he has poor taste. I mean, look at this place.” She scoffs. “I want you to organize it.”

“Me?” I probably sound like an idiot.

“You are Robin, right?”

Now I’m really confused. I don’t think I have ever met this woman before.

“I was told you planned Kora’s birthday party last year?”