Page 90 of To Catch a Firefly

I nod, unable to get my voice to work. I thought he’d be here for the holidays.

“El?” he asks gently. When I don’t speak, he sighs. “It’ll be okay. This is good, I promise. Just…wait for me?”

Always.

He makes a soft sound, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something else. But then he goes on in a rush. “I have to get on the plane. I’ll be home soon.” A pause. “Bye, El.”

I clear my throat, the best I can do. After a beat, Lucky hangs up.

I let my hand hang at my side. Someone down the hall opens the door from outside, crossing the threshold in a flurry of cold air and snow. My body rolls in a shiver, no longer quite so warm.

After work, I stop by the convenience store, dropping off my newest piece to Melody. It’s the Northern Lights, or at least as close as I could get to recreating them. It took me a long time to get the piece right, and I had to scrap a few attempts that didn’t pan out. In the end, I made a polar bear out of mostly clear glass. Streaks of green and pink and golden-yellow flow from one shoulder, along the bear’s middle, and down to its tail. Inside, I blew a dusting of glitter.

Melody is ecstatic about the piece. She says it’s my best one yet. I give her a smile, but my insides are still aching.

On Saturday, I don’t hear from Lucky.

On Sunday, there’s a knock at the door.

“I don’t understand,” my mom says. “He was sick?”

“Yes, ma’am,” our guest replies, holding a folder in his hands. He’s seated on the couch, crisp suit in place, although the hems of his pants are stained wet from the snow. “He had stage four pancreatic cancer. There wasn’t much the doctors could do, I’m afraid.”

My mom glances my way, the sadness in her eyes evident. She looks more sad forme, though. I’m not sure how I can tell, other than the pain rests along the outsides of her eyes, not within them.

She clears her throat. “And you’re here to give us the news?”

The man nods. “That, as well as inform you Mr. William Cole left the entirety of his estate to his son, Ellis William Cole.”

There’s a long silence.

“Pardon?” my mom asks.

The man nods again, opening his folder. “In his last will and testament, Mr. Cole instructed his assets, including those gained from the sale of his house, were to go to Ellis. It’s all here.” He passes a sheet of paper over to my mom, who holds it with her usual shaking hand.

Her eyes meet mine again. “Ellis,” she says quietly.

I shake my head. I don’t need to see it.

My mom sets the paper down. “There was no one else?” she asks.

The man frowns sympathetically. “No. He seemed…” He pauses before saying, “He seemed to live a solitary life. His body will rest here at his family’s plot. The service will be held on Tuesday.”

My mom nods, looking lost in thought. “Thank you, Mr…”

“Bradley,” the man fills in, taking his cue and standing. He holds out his palm, shaking my mother’s hand and then coming over to shake my own. “My condolences.” He passes me a card. “My information if you have questions.”

I nod, and Mr. Bradley steps toward the door. I follow, seeing him out. The black Mercedes that rolls down our driveway through the snow looks out of place.

“Ellis?” my mom says. “Are you okay?”

I close the door, turning her way. I drop the business card on the coffee table before shrugging.

“He…emailed me,” I say.

My mom’s face scrunches in confusion. “When?”

I think back. “Months ago.”

---