Page 40 of Single Mom's Christmas Wish

I’m not going to let Katherine hurt me again. The woman may be dead, but she still has power from the grave. Her lawyer showing up at my door with this letter proves as much.

13

Dakota

“Ready?” Chelsea asks.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” I mutter. “And pay for my ticket.”

We’re outside Fair Ridge Cemetery in Chappaqua, NY. It’s a sunny but cold Saturday afternoon, the wind blowing through the forest behind us. Leaves rustle in the biting breeze, traveling like whispers past my ears while shivers run down my back. My best friend and I are dressed in black, wrapped in thick winter overcoats. The weather in late November in upstate New York is a dramatic shift from San Francisco’s mellow temperatures.

“We can do this,” Chelsea says.

Walking slowly, I try to take it all in. The cemetery is somber and calm. It’s eerily quiet as we make our way up the main trail.

“The funeral is over, see?” she replies, pointing at a thinning crowd of people at a walkway to our right.

I stop, frozen, as I try to make out as many details as possible. They’re all filthy-rich folks. I can tell from the suits, the elegantblack dresses, and royal ascot-style hats, not to mention the leather and fur coats that scream luxury from yards away.

Chelsea went to great lengths to make this trip happen. She got a trusted friend to take care of Maisie in our absence. Lucky for her, I know the woman well enough to trust her with my daughter, if only for one day. We’re due back this evening, and our plane tickets are already booked.

It’s been a whirlwind of a week, especially with that foreclosure notice looming over my head.

And that is why I had to concede, why I had to come.

If there is even the slightest chance that I might inherit something from Katherine Monroe, I’d be a complete idiot to refuse it. Not when I’m at my absolute lowest and trying to keep the wolves at bay. I’m not going to make it if I don’t figure something out.

“Take a deep breath,” Chelsea says. “The lawyer’s letter said the will reading will take place in the Fair Ridge Pavilion after the funeral service.”

“Come on. Let’s get this over with,” I say, then hook my arm through Chelsea’s to take the brisk walk toward the pavilion.

The cemetery itself is relatively small, with hills of grey tombstones as far as the eye can see. Majestic trees rise and cast long shadows across the grass; most of their branches are naked. It’s quiet and eerily beautiful. We walk past the dwindling funeral crowd, and I catch a glimpse of a large, framed portrait of Katherine Monroe mounted on an easel next to her ebony casket.

A pastor shakes hands and exchanges pleasantries with some of the attendees. Steam rolls from their mouths as they speak. Shuddering, I keep scanning their faces. I’m looking for Callie but if I’m to be completely honest, I’m not even sure I remember what she looks like. I only saw her once on that wretched day. I was eighteen and grieving, but it was the thought of seeing her again that made me dread this entire trip. I will eventually have to face her, and it makes my skin crawl.

“Are you okay?” Chelsea asks as we’re walking, our short heels clicking across the hard pavement. “You look pale.”

“No, I’m not okay. This entire thing is so uncomfortable,” I mutter. “Let’s just get it over with. I want to be back in San Francisco and away from these people as soon as possible.”

Up ahead, the pavilion rises next to a tiny but elegant chapel with gilded archways and Renaissance-style marble statues of angels guarding the entrance. It is a beautiful sight, and I know it’s intended as a diversion to make people forget about death and burial.

“It must’ve been bad,” she says.

“What?”

“The fight your dad had with Katherine. It must’ve been really bad in order for him to be basically expunged from the family. Every single Monroe has been buried here. Generation after generation. Your dad’s the only one who isn’t here.”

“You’re right; it must’ve been bad,” I say, lowering my voice as we approach the pavilion. The biting cold makes my cheeks tingle, but I welcome the chill. It’s a nice change of pace. “From what I recall, Dad was one of the sweetest and gentlest people in the world. Sally thought so, too. She actually said it once when Iwas in high school. She said had my dad not been such a sweet fellow, she never would’ve let my mom marry him.”

“Like it was up to Sally,” Chelsea chuckles. “Come on, Dakota. You know as well as I do that love can be blind and can make you do stupid things.”

“True, and I’m living proof of that. But Grandma Sally did have a point. She cared deeply about Dad. I remember how crushed she was when they died. Not only did she lose her only daughter that night, but she said she lost a son, too.”

It brings tears to my eyes just to think about the many grim evenings and the hole their deaths left behind. It was a dark time for me, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel normal again. Sally did an amazing job of stepping in and trying to fill my parents’ shoes. I only wish I’d had her longer.

“How do you feel about all this, by the way?” Chelsea asks.

“About what?”

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