“What kind?”
“You’ll find out at the wedding.”
She kissed my cheek and left.
Three days later, a police officer knocked on my door.
“There’s a surprise.”
Ashley had died in a car accident.
I remembered the officer speaking.
I remembered my sister, Nancy, arriving, taking the phone, and handling everything.
But after that, I remembered almost nothing.
The following days barely registered.
I remembered almost nothing.
Ashley’s coffee mug remained in my sink.
Her wedding invitation hung on my fridge.
And her last text stayed on my phone.
“Love you, Dad. Don’t forget the tie.”
Ashley’s coffee mug remained in my sink.
On the morning of the funeral, I stood before a row of black ties.
I couldn’t touch them. So I took out Ashley’s.
Nancy stood behind me.
“Frank, you don’t have to wear that one today,” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “I do.”
