by Debra Webb
Two days ago when she’d arrived in Winchester and told her father’s assistant director that she would be taking care of the preparation of his body personally, Woody had not been happy, but it was the DuPont way. Woody didn’t know or understand. Herman had come to the funeral home and insisted on helping. Rowan hadn’t argued. She had let him. He and her father had been best friends their whole lives. It was only right that he be a part of her father’s final moments before being interred.
Hundreds of people had come to her father’s funeral and then many more had filled the cemetery. He had been a beloved fixture in the community all of his adult life, just like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather before him. Though her heart remained heavy, her chest had filled with pride as the crowd gathered to show their respects.
Once the flowers were all arranged around the grave and there was nothing left to do, Rowan had thought everyone was gone but she should have known better. Billy wouldn’t have left without her. She wasn’t sure how long he had watched and waited for her to feel ready to go.
“I should be there.” She could walk—the funeral home wasn’t far—but it was cold. She’d only just become aware of how cold.
She looked from her parents’ wide granite headstone to her sister’s smaller one. A gulf of emptiness widened inside her. She pushed it away. She had Billy and Herman. Billy offered his arm and she wrapped hers around his, so grateful for his steady presence.
“I could take you to my place, let you relax while I go to the funeral home and help Herman,” he offered as they walked through the maze of headstones with the shadows of night descending rapidly.
“Thank you, but you know I have to do this.”
He sighed. “I know.” He opened the passenger door of his truck and held her hand while she settled into the seat.
A gathering with family was expected after a loved one’s passing. Her father would have been the first to suggest good food and companionship after his funeral. Though, like her, he had never been a socialite generally speaking, he believed in going the distance for the passing of a loved one. He had loved his work and he had done it well.
Silence enveloped Rowan and Billy as they drove through the small town that had changed little since she was a child. She was home. Somehow, no matter how long she had lived in Nashville, this was still home.
Rowan’s lips lifted slightly when Billy parked in front of the funeral home. She could see Freud waiting beyond the beveled glass of the front entrance, tail wagging. No matter that there were likely dozens of people milling about inside the lobby, he watched for her arrival. She still had Freud, too. They would get through this together. Whatever Julian’s—the bastard—reason for sending Freud into the backyard rather than killing him, too, Rowan was grateful.
“What happens now, Ro?”
She turned to the man behind the wheel, the dim glow from the dash highlighting his worried face. For a few seconds she couldn’t think how to answer the question.
“Are you heading back to Nashville?” he asked when she didn’t answer his first question.
“No.” Deep breath. Besides April Jones, she had not shared her plans with anyone. It was time to do that now. “I’m staying.”
He nodded slowly. “Sorry. I didn’t think of that. You have to take care of your father’s estate. I guess you’ll be selling the funeral home.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m staying, Billy. I’m taking over the business the way Daddy wanted.”
“Ro.” He reached out, took her hand in his. “Your daddy understood you didn’t want that life. He wouldn’t want you to stay now out of any misplaced guilt or sense of obligation. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy—wherever that might be.”
She nodded. “I know, but this is what I want. It’s what I was born to do.”
A grin spread across his lips. “Well, in that case, let me be the first to officially welcome you home.” He reached across the console and gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re back, Ro.”
“Thank you.” She smiled, the first in many days. “I’m counting on you and Herman to bring me up to speed on all I’ve missed.”
Billy gave her a nod. “I’ll do my best.”
She knew he would. Billy was a good man and so was Herman. She was in great hands.
Billy was at her door by the time she unfastened her seat belt. They strolled up the walk to the front entrance of the DuPont Funeral Home, and Rowan felt genuinely at peace with her decision.
She looked up at the old Victorian mansion backdropped by the full moon. She was home and this time she intended to stay.
As the undertaker’s daughter, this was her destiny.
* * *
ISBN-13: 9781488085796
The Secrets We Bury
Copyright © 2019 by Debra Webb
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The Undertaker’s Daughter
Copyright © 2018 by Debra Webb
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