“Mr. Hubbard’s body will remain here until after the autopsy,” Mr. Gordon said.
Blinking, I conjured the will to participate in the conversation around me. “Why do you want an autopsy? It was an accident, right?”
“In the case of fatal automobile accidents, the coroner often requires an autopsy.”
“But you already know how he died.”
“We only know the obvious.”
I didn’t know the ins and outs of an autopsy, but the idea of anyone desecrating Dad’s body caused bile to churn in my stomach. “Can we object?”
“The family can refuse a private or hospital-requested autopsy, but unfortunately, not one ordered by the coroner.”
“Will it…be noticeable…to us?” I was aware my question wasn’t well stated. To be honest, I wasn’t certain what I was asking.
“No, Ms. Hubbard. When we release your father’s body to the funeral home and they’ll prepare him for viewing, no one will be able to tell that an autopsy was performed.”
“How long does all this take?” Uncle Darin asked.
“Typically, twenty-four to forty-eight hours. That is, of course, if the autopsy doesn’t yield any unusual findings. Have you contacted a mortuary?”
My gaze went to Uncle Darin. This would be Daphne’s call, not ours. I turned back to Mr. Gordon. “We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve made the arrangements.”
He nodded, adding information to his tablet. “We’ll need to be contacted by the executor of Mr. Hubbard’s estate.”
Uncle Darin pulled a paper from the inside breast pocket of his suit coat. “Here’s a copy of the paperwork you need. According to Mr. Hubbard’s wishes, my wife and I are co-executors of his estate.”
The information hit me with the force of a sledgehammer. “Dad planned for this?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“Not for this,” Uncle Darin replied. “His will is outdated, but it stated what I just said.”
“What else does it say? How outdated?”
Uncle Darin turned my way with a curt nod. “I tried to discuss this with you earlier.” Before I could respond, he went on. “We can discuss it later.”
Arguing at this juncture was beyond my current capability.
Mr. Gordon took the paperwork. “I’ll need this information confirmed by the courts. After that?—”
Unable to sit, I quickly stood. “Mr. Gordon, we came here today to see my father, not to answer a million questions. The rest of the legal issues can be discussed with my uncle and Dad’s attorneys at a later time.” Despite my assertive tone, I held tightly to my own hands to keep them from trembling. “I want to see my father.”
Mr. Gordon nodded.
The odd time continuum moved forward. Again, the scenes weren’t real. They were choppy, as if from a low-budget film with horrible lighting and terrible sound. My ears echoed with the tap of our shoes clipping along the hallway and bouncing off the cement-block walls. Mr. Gordon led us beyond multiple sets of doors. Each passage was colder than the one before.
I wasn’t fully present.
If this was a dream, it was a nightmare I wanted to end.
Leaving my body, it was as if I were seeing the scene from above.
Mr. Gordon opened a door, one of many on a long wall. For some reason, they reminded me of oven doors. I had an irrational thought: it was too cold for ovens. He pulled out a long table containing a figure covered by a white sheet.
My body convulsed and tears streamed down my cheeks as I struggled to breathe.
Mr. Gordon donned a pair of blue gloves, the color standing out amongst the monochrome environment. After looking at us, he lowered the sheet to Dad’s shoulders.
Unsuccessfully holding back the sobs, I stared down at the face that had been my constant forever. Unbelievably, my lips curled. The sight wasn’t gruesome. After the description of the accident, I had horrible images running through my mind. While Dad was pale, he looked like he had yesterday in the family suite.
