Cassie stared at it, mouth flattening.He must’ve taken it that morning in the kitchen, after the coffee spilled and she’d run out of the house.
“She told you he’s goin’ in Ridge Hollow,” Nash said, each word low and slow.“So you’re gonna make that happen.Whatever papers, whatever signatures, you handle it.And there ain’t gonna be no extra fees tacked on.Just the service and burial.We clear?”
Cassie’s eyes flicked up, her skin prickling.She wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up—that he didn’t get to speak for her—and to hand over her brother’s ring while he was at it.But the words stayed lodged at the back of her throat, burning and useless.This wasn’t the time or place to start another battle between them.
Harvell stared up at Nash, even as he shrank in his seat.“I’m not sayin’ it’s impossible—just that it takes time.There’s a process—”
“Then start the fuckin’ process,” Nash cut in darkly, “or I will.”
Harvell went stone-still.“Y-yes, of course,” he stammered.“We’ll start everything right away.I’ll reach out to the council and confirm your family’s plots, Ms.Berry.No extra fees, no trouble.”
Nash straightened, glancing sideways—not quite at Cassie, but close enough that she felt it.Her grip on the bag tightened further, her nails biting through the plastic until it tore.She wanted to throw it at him, shove him, anything to break that calm, immovable, infuriating stance of his.Instead, she remained silent and simmering.
Harvell cleared his throat again.Pulling a thick leather-bound catalog from the stack, he slid it cautiously toward Cassie.“If you’d like,” he began, forcing a small smile, “we can start by lookin’ at casket options.Traditional styles—mahogany, walnut, very elegant…”
Cassie scanned the glossy photos.They all looked the same—shiny, human-sized boxes trussed up in frills only to be buried and forgotten.Her mama’s plain pine box suddenly didn’t seem cheap anymore.In fact, it seemed right.Honest, even.Like it hadn’t tried to dress death up as something it wasn’t.
“Connor wasn’t elegant,” she said at last.
“Not an elegant bone in that boy’s body,” Margie gruffly agreed.“He lived and died in denim and flannel.Always covered in grease.He wouldn’t be wantin’ fancy.No satin pillows—no way, no how.”
Harvell nodded and flipped open another catalog.“We do have simpler models—solid pine, unvarnished, very understated.”
Cassie leaned forward, turning the pages slowly, waiting for something to feel right, until one casket—a pale pine box with matte black handles—finally held her gaze.
To most, it probably looked plain.But Cassie saw the same spirit she’d always loved in a well-made instrument—the grain running wild, the wood imperfect but alive.The kind of thing that didn’t need polish.
Just like Connor.
“This one,” she said, tapping the page.“This is the one.”
Nash stared at the casket Cassie was pointing at—pale and raw, nothing to it—his temper kicking up.Connor deserved more than some flimsy piece of shit.He stabbed a finger at the next page—at an oak casket, darker-stained, cleaner lines, still simple but more solid.
“What about this one?”
Cassie’s head snapped toward him.“You don’t get to make decisions here.We agreed on that.”
“I never agreed to shit,” he shot back.“An’ Con deserves better than the cheapest thing on the page.”
Cassie shoved her chair back, springing to her feet.“Cheapest thing?Are you seriously calling me cheap?”
His eyes flicked to the secondhand-store bag in her hands.“You bought him someone else’s shit to wear—and now you wanna bury him in the bargain-bin box—what the fuck would you call it?”
Her mouth fell open.“You think this is about fucking money?You think I picked it because it’s cheap?You have no idea why I chose it.None.”
“You’re right,” he said with a bitter laugh.“I don’t have a single fuckin’ clue why you don’t think Con’s worth more than plywood.”
Cassie’s eyes flared.She dropped the bag at her feet with a thud.“Say that again,” she whispered, voice low and shaking, “and I swear to God, Nash, I’ll bury you right next to him.”
“I’m already there,” Nash spat back.“Jesus Christ, woman, you’re so fuckin’ full of yourself you can’t see what anyone else is feeling.You think you’re his only kin—well, you ain’t.He was my brother, too—” His fist slammed against his chest.“My fuckin’ brother.”
“Lord have mercy,” Margie muttered.“Are y’all seriously fixin’ to brawl in a funeral parlor?”
“We, uh…” Harvell cleared his throat nervously.“We do offer grief-counseling referrals, if that’s something you would be interested in…”
Still glaring at Nash, Cassie pointed at the pale pine box again.“That’s.The.One.”
Nash’s breath hissed between his teeth.“No, it ain’t.He deserves better.”
