“No, honey,” Miss Margaret replied. “She’s dead, remember?”
Lily clutched Sugar Bear to her chest. The bedraggled stuffedanimal is never far from her grasp these days. “I thought she mighta come back.”
“She can’t, sweetie,” Margaret said. “That’s what dead means.”
Lily’s bottom lip trembled. “I don’ like dead.”
“None of us do, honey.” I put my hand on her back.
“Do you want to visit the house?” Margaret asked again. “I think it will make you sad, but we’ll take you if you’d like.”
Lily shook her head. “If Mommy’s not there, I don’ wanna be there, either.” She stuck her thumb in her mouth—another bit of regression that had occurred in the last month.
It was late when Lily finally fell asleep in my guest room, but she’d slept soundly through the night. This morning she was upbeat and excited when I dropped her off at her friend Alicia’s house before I came here to help Miss Margaret.
A moving company is scheduled to arrive in a few hours to start the actual packing. We’re leaving the furniture and accessories in place while the house is on the market, but the movers will box and remove the contents of the cabinets, drawers, and closets.
Dismantling Brooke’s home is a heartrending task, made worse by the fact that I remember the joy of helping her move in.
She’d been pregnant, and I’d flown in from Atlanta for a long weekend. I’d already made a few trips to New Orleans to help her with renovation and design decisions. As we unpacked, we played loud music, danced around, and talked a mile a minute. Everything was new and exciting. I set up the nursery while Brooke unpacked the kitchen, and I refused to let her see the baby’s space until it was all finished.
When everything was in place, I led her to the closed door. “Ready?”
“More than ready.”
“Welcome to your baby’s nursery!”
She gasped when the door swung open, slapping her cheeks with her palms. I laughed, because I’d never seen someone actually do that in real life.
“Oh, Quinn—this is amazing!” Her eyes teared up as she walked around the room, taking it all in. “I can’t believe how talented you are. This is just what I wanted and didn’t know how to describe.” She touched the canopy over the crib, then reached out and hugged me.
I hugged her back, thrilled that I’d made her so happy.
“You know what’s even more amazing than this room?” she asked as we drew apart. “You. You’re a wonderful, wonderful friend, Quinn. I feel so blessed to have you in my life.”
My throat grows thick at the memory.
“I don’t know how Brooke managed her job and a child and everything else she had going,” Miss Margaret says now. “Why, when I was a newlywed, all I did was keep house, and I didn’t do it nearly as well as Brooke.”
We stand there and gaze at the closet for a reverent moment.
“It feels terrible, tearing apart her home.” Miss Margaret’s voice warbles a little. “I thought nothing would ever be as painful as going through my daughter’s home after that accident, but this feels just as awful.”
I don’t know what to say, but I ache to console her. She looks frailer than she did just a few weeks ago. “Brooke would want us to move forward,” I finally manage.
“Yes. Yes, you’re right.” She draws a deep breath and stands a little straighter. “Well, do you want to take any of these towels or sheets? I have more than enough linens.”
“I’ll take a few of the white towels.”
“I suppose we should donate the rest,” Margaret says.
I nod. “I know several places that can use them. I’ll take care of that for you.”
“Thank you, dear.” She bends down to put a sticker on the bottom shelf, then loses her balance and topples to the floor.
“Miss Margaret!” I squat down beside her, alarmed. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She sits up and straightens her pink button-up shirt. “Just fine. Nothing hurt but my pride.”
