Sylvie resisted the urge to sigh as Fiona changed the subject. “Yeah. I don’t know. I mean, I guess I figured she expected me to put her urn with Dad’s. I don’t know why she would leave this blank. She chose so much else; why wouldn’t she have an opinion aboutthis?”
Fiona shrugged. “Maybe she wanted you to do what worked foryou.From everything she left behind, it seems to me like she just wanted to make it easy on you, not that she cared too much about the details.”
That was surprisingly insightful.
Sylvie nodded in agreement. “And who would’ve thought there were so many options? I mean—urns, plaques, boxes, urns shaped like boats, urns shaped like butterflies, tiny urns to divide your loved ones into andsharewith other family members. And some of these names…how are you even supposed to know what you’re ordering? One’s just calledLove, the one underneath it isTogether Frame! What shape evenisanEternity Gem?”
She gave a small laugh and looked over at Fiona, only to pause at her sister-in-law’s expression. Alarmed, maybe. Or surprised. And sad, too.
“Did I say something wrong?” Sylvie asked gently, feeling like she very much had.
“It’s, um…not a shape,” Fiona said, raising her hand to the sparkling pendant that hung around her neck. “It’s aprocess.”
Confused, Sylvie put the pamphlet down and turned to face her. “A process of…?”
Fiona squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. “They take some of the ashes, do something to the carbon in them,and press the result under extreme pressure to replicate what happens in nature when carbon turns into a diamond. Then they treat it like a regular diamond and set it into a piece of jewelry—like this.” She leaned forward awkwardly so Sylvie could get a better look, holding the necklace out without getting too close.
Sylvie’s breath caught as she took the pale green gemstone between her fingertips. “Is this Brett? The green is—”
“Just like his eyes,” Fiona finished, pulling away. “Yeah. Lilly and I both have one. I don’t wear mine so much anymore, but I thought he should be there today, you know? In some way.”
“Right. Yeah, that’s…”
“Weird? Probably. But I don’t really care,” Fiona snapped.
“Really lovely,” Sylvie corrected her gently. “I really like that. It’s beautiful.”
Fiona scoffed. “Well, I guess I figured you’d think it was… I don’t know. Obsessive or something.”
Sylvie shook her head. “No. In fact, I think that’s what I’m going to do. Get a regular old urn and put her next to Dad on their bookshelf but have a little piece of her with me.” She caught the look of surprise on Fiona’s face but didn’t comment on it as she turned back in her chair.
And then, a wild thought settled into her mind.
Maybe she could take her mom to the island fromFemme de Forceafter all.
Chapter 9
Stepping onto the street outside the funeral home felt like a dream or a scene from a movie. It had been so stuffy and stagnant inside the church, and then the director’s office had been cool and sterile with bright lights. Now, the air felt relatively warm, even though the sky was starting to cloud over, and it looked like rain might be on the way.
“What is it?” Fiona asked.
Sylvie pressed one hand to her stomach and the other to the side of her head. “I feel kinda ill.”
“Do you think you’ll make it back to the inn without throwing up in the car?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, Sylvie tried not to think about throwing up. “I’ll be fine. I—”
Fiona’s phone rang, and she held up a finger to silence Sylvie before answering, walking a few steps down the street. It didn’t make a difference—Sylvie could still hear the conversation. It was the same one Fiona had been having for days: something about a conference call with the partners and the need for a scribe.
“Yes, actually, itisnecessary!” Fiona screeched, making Sylvie wince.
Turning her back on the conversation, Sylvie looked across the street past a small stand of freshly trimmed palm trees and gasped. In all her recent visits to the funeral home, she hadn’t realized it was directly across from Travel Go Stay. Nearly in adaze, she crossed the street and began reading the flyers and posters in the window.
The front door of the travel agency opened suddenly, startling her, and revealed Gina Jacobs smiling sadly.
It had been months since she’d seen Gina. Well, face-to-face at least.
“Hi,” she said weakly. “How—”
