“Debbie, I can assure you that Decker’s remains were not just banging around in the back of my trunk like a two-liter of Diet Coke, okay? This situation, though unexpected, isn’t going to just be some sort of afterthought for me. In fact, it’s been my only thought since it showed up at my door.”

“Good god, I feel like we’re back in the hospital again, Charlotte, arguing about semantics.”

That makes two of us.

In an attempt to keep my composure and stay focused on the point of the visit, I reenter the conversation using information only—data has been, and forever will be, my strong point. I made it that way since the day I knew we lost Decker for good.

“I understand that he was your only son, but I’m his wife. And I need some time to think about the right thing to do with these ashes. Next of kin doesn’t just go away when he passes, Debbie.”

“You were,” she says point-blank and seemingly out of nowhere as she stares out the window at her glistening saltwater pool.

“Were what?” I say.

Her eyes gaze back at me. They seem to have darkened to more a midnight blue in the last few seconds.

“You were his wife five years ago. Your marriage to our son ended when his life did. Now, I think it’s lovely that you’ve had the opportunity to spend a night with his remains, but I strongly suggest that you leave the urn—the urn that I had handmade specially for Decker by a master ceramicist in the hills of Argentina—with me. Letting me handle this again is the decent thing to do.”

“Because letting me handle it would be a disaster?”

“No, because I’m the one woman who will always place him at the center of her heart. You, you can get another husband. I can’t have another son. What happens when you move on, Charlotte? When Decker becomes nothing but a memory, a distant one at that? Do you think my son will ever just be a distant memory to me?”

I don’t know what she expects from me right now. Decker is a core part of me. Why is this woman punishing me for something that I cannot change? Stick to the facts, I remind myself.

“Debbie, you chose to put him in Pala and now...that place doesn’t exist anymore. Considering you had no idea about that, I highly doubt you have a backup plan just locked in and ready to go. And neither do I. So we’re even there. But let’s not forget there’s a legal reason Decker was sent to my address and not yours.”

Just then Sandra, the housekeeper, enters the room, a sea of children standing behind her in bathing suits and goggles.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Austin? The pool party is here,” she announces.

I check the time on my Apple Watch. It’s 2:30 p.m. exactly. Is this the company she was expecting? A gaggle of preteens who want to swim in the neighbor’s pool?