“So there’s no backup mausoleum that you guys have a contract with or something like that?” Brian asks.

“No, there are no other mausoleums we are working with at this time. Just the complimentary grief counselors. Are you sure you don’t want to be connected?”

“Yes,” Brian and I say at the same time.

Kenya reads her exit script and the line fades to dark.

“Okay, so don’t panic,” Brian says in his signature casual tone. “This isn’t a dead end. Besides, who says you have to figure this out right now? What about keeping him at your place for a while?”

“I don’t know about that, Brian. I mean, he’s in there. Whatever is left of Decker is in there.” I point to the urn to drive home the “this is weird” point. “It’s not a vase of flowers, for crying out loud. These are bone fragments.”

“Okay, fair enough. I can respect the science going on in there. So, here’s a thought: How about you—willingly, of course—return him to his mom?”

I want to spit my latte across the patio at the mere mention. While I know that solves the “not in my house” problem, I’m not leaning in the “her house” direction either. The truth of the matter is if I could trust that Debbie would make a more practical decision with the urn this time around, then there’d be a chance I’d drive the thing back over to her place right now. But part of the whole reason I think Debbie chose to put Decker in Pala in the first place was so that she could pull some rank. It was a move that made it nearly impossible for me to spend time with him the way other widows can just visit a grave site with flowers anytime they want. The trek to Pala was just a cheeky little jaunt for her. She doesn’t work a regular job and the Austins have a driver. A two-hour chauffeured trip in a Wi-Fi-enabled Bentley was nothing for her. Clearly her visits must have tapered off in the recent past or she would have known what happened to the mausoleum before I told her. But visiting him frequently really only mattered in the beginning when she went to see him and I didn’t, because it served as the proof she needed that she made the right choice, the best choice, and the only choice—after I made the impossible choice. I’m not going to let things play out like that again.

“He deserves more from me now,” I tell Brian. “He deserves actual thought and effort and meaning from me. If I can’t figure it out, then sure. I’ll turn things over to Debbie. But I need a chance this time.”

“I get it. Giving him to Debbie was just a thought in case that made things easier. It was dumb of me to suggest; I know you’ve already thought about that, and more importantly, I know you can handle this, Charlotte.” He pauses. “You’re the strongest person I know.”