I shrug my shoulders. “Finish fixing my house, most likely. Probably pop in three or four times a day to annoy your momma.” My eyes meet with hers. “See if a certain little heathen needs help with her math homework.”
That brings a satisfied smile to her face. It warms me to know she’s dreading my not being around as much as I am.
Speaking of… “What’s your momma up to? I haven’t seen her yet this morning.”
“Making arrangements for Jimmy and June’s baby girl.” She folds her arms over her knees, resting her head on top. “They been in there for hours.” Her eyes widen to further express the amount of time that’s lapsed before she gets real quiet, staring off into space for beat. “Hey, Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you know that roughly 350 children under the age of five drown in home swimming pools each year?”
“I didn’t.” My chest becomes tight as the final memory I have of my own baby sister in that little white casket flashes through my mind. Suddenly I’m filled with alarm, thinking about what happened to Jimmy and June’s toddler. “Hey, Priss?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever had swimming lessons?”
She shakes her head. “Where you think I’m gonna drown? The bathtub? We ain’t got no pool.”
“No, but my property meets up with the bayou, and if I have anything to say about it, you’ll be spending a lotta time there. Everyone should know how to swim, anyway.” I scratch the back of my head. “I’m gonna mention it to your mom.”
“You do that.” She jumps up from her perch. “Think I just heard Paw and Mr. Rusty pull up in the van. I’m gonna go see if they need help unloading.”
“You do that.”
I, myself, plan to stay as far away from that retrieval van as humanly possible.
Rather than jump right back into work, something tells me I should pop in and check in on Whitney. My intuition is spot on. When I reach the lobby, I peek through the front window to see the only unfamiliar vehicle out front pulling away.
“Everything, all right in here?” I tap lightly on the door frame before peering into Whit’s office to find her with her head bent over a stack of papers, deep in thought.
“Not really,” she answers, lifting her gaze. Her normally vibrant blue eyes are red-rimmed and swimming in tears. The stress of what she’s just had to endure is etched in every detail of her face. “That was brutal.” The hitch in her voice hits me hard right in the pit of my chest. It’s so easy to lose sight of the fact that she’s not just a funeral director, but an actual person with real feelings and emotions. Whitney’s always so strong for those around her, because she has to be. But the pitiful sight before me has me wondering how many times she’s wept alone in this office.
“Tell me what I can do to help.” I step into the room, shutting the door behind me.
Her one-shouldered shrug is pitiful. “Hold me?” Her jaw trembles as a steady stream of sorrow begins to line her cheeks.
I move my hands in a come-hither motion. She’s around her desk, wrapped in my arms, and full-on sobbing into the bend of my neck seemingly before I draw my next breath.
I smooth my hand in circles over her back, pressing kisses to her temple. I have no clue what to say. I don’t dare tell her it’s okay, because there’s not one thing about the death of a two-year-old that could ever be anything other than tragic. “Wanna talk about it?” I ask once she winds down, reaching for the box of Kleenex at the corner of her desk.
She gives her head a slight shake. “Sorry about that,” she says, dabbing at her nose. “I can’t believe I just broke down all over you.”
“Better out than in, right?” I push her hair back off her tear-sticky cheeks so I can see her pretty face.
Her upper lip curls. “Isn’t that saying about farts?”
“Meh,” I shrug. “I think it’s some solid, multidimensional advice…applies to all the bad stuff.”
She nods, shaking her head at me. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I held it together just fine until you walked in…” Her lips pucker, before turning to one side.
I’m her safe space.
Hearing her say as much in not so many words just further proves what I’ve known all along. We belong together. “That’s what I’m here for.”
She stares up at me and quirks a brow. Whitney doesn’t even have to say it for me to know she’s thinking about what went down on that rug in front of my fireplace last night. Bad timing or not, I can’t help the laugh that erupts from my chest. “I didn’t say that was all I’m here for.”
She pulls back just a little and begins smoothing her hands up and down my arms, obviously deep in thought. I doubt even she realizes what she’s doing. I’m more than happy to let her relieve a little stress in the repetitive motion while she ruminates. “June just kept saying over and over that she didn’t want her last memory to be of her baby in a box.” She frowns. “Can you even imagine?”
I nod, clearing my throat. “It’s a vision that never leaves you.”
I barely remember what my parents looked like that awful day. I still think of them as healthy and alive, but with Annie…it’s the only image I can conjure.
Her nails dig into my bicep. “Oh, Wyatt.” She shakes her head. “You are the last person I should be dumping this on.”
“I’m not gonna break, love.” I smooth her hair back, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Actually, I think I might have an idea.”
“I’m listening.” Her arms drop, and she perches on the end of her desk granting me with her full attention.
“What if you laid her out in a cradle instead? Made it a little more intimate.” When she remains quiet, I start to backtrack. “It was just an ide—”
“No,” she exclaims cutting me off. “Wyatt, this is brilliant.”
“It is?” I mean, of course it is.
She nods, already picking up the phone and dialing someone. “Jimmy!” she greets. “Hey. This is Whitney…Daigle.” She rounds the desk, collapsing into her chair. “Yeah. One of our employees just had the idea to—”
I give her a little wave before sneaking out and leaving her to finish her call.
As a general rule, I keep as far away from the viewing areas as possible. With the exception of the time I helped retrieve that damn flying squirrel, I haven’t stepped foot in either one. So, when Whitney insists I pay the little girl a visit before the family starts arriving, I’m extremely hesitant.
“I’m good,” I insist. “I didn’t even know her.”
“You should see your work,” she says, referring to the cradle I went home and built in my shop yesterday evening.
“I’ve seen it.” I dig my feet into the floor. “I’m the one who built it, remember?”
“Please,” she begs, tugging my arm. “It would mean a lot to me.”
“Why?”
She blows out a frustrated breath. “Because I think it’ll help you.”
“I assure you I don’t need any help.” I turn to head off in the direction of the chapel when her words stop me from taking the first step.