Chapter 1

The day I buried my dad, my best friend and confidant, was a miserable day indeed. Not that you could tell by the clear, sunny sky above us as the priest intoned my father’s last rites.

I wasn’t unfamiliar with loss. I’d lost my mother when I was sixteen to breast cancer, so it seemed fitting I’d lose my dad ten years later. Except, this time, it was someone else who took my dad from me, not some sickness we could blame then say there was nothing we could do about it.

No. A distracted driver swerved into my dad’s lane, killing them both and hurting a handful of other people. There wasn’t even someone for me to be angry at! I didn’t even get the satisfaction of seeing the asshole go to prison.

Peyton Rider. Pfft. What a name!

The preppy frat boy from Richmond College had a black, lifted pickup truck with a blue streak down the side. By the time the emergency crew arrived, the beautiful truck his rich parents had probably bought was nothing more than scrap metal.

My dad’s little blue Fiat didn’t stand a chance. At least the bastard went down with him. It was a bitter pill to swallow either way.

“Now, Gregory’s daughter, Braxton, would like to say some words.” The priest, a portly, older man with tiny glasses perched on his nose, gestured for me to come forward.

Standing from my seat next to Aunt Christine, I breathed deeply, my fingers curled into fists at my sides. It’s okay, Brax. You can do this. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Pulling on the ends of my dirty blonde hair, I chanted my mantra all the way to the front of my dad’s grave, my kitten heels sinking into the soggy grass beneath my feet. I pulled my index cards from the pocket of my black dress pants—the only article of clothing I had in the color—and gripped them tightly in my hands until the paper bit into my skin. Public speaking wasn’t my area of expertise, I preferred online interaction, but this was for my dad. I could and would do anything for him.

“My dad, Gregory Clay, is—I mean, was—the best dad a girl could possibly ask for.” A man from my dad’s job coughed into his hand, interrupting my concentration. “He knew just what to say when I was having a bad day, and the right way to threaten bodily harm to anyone who broke my heart.” I smiled slightly as the crowd chuckled. I stared down at my cards, struggling to get the words out. “He never said a bad word about anyone…unless they were downing his favorite team.” I looked up and jokingly pumped a fist in the air. “Go Sea Hawks!”

My lips tugged down when no one responded in kind. Licking my lips, I shuffled my cards, my eyes jerking down to them and then back up to the group of somber people—a combination of my dad’s work friends and our family. My Aunt Christine gave me an encouraging thumbs-up. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes then opened them again, my gaze landing on a stranger standing at the edge of the crowd.

A man about my age, or so it seemed from this distance, wearing a letterman’s jacket and a tight frown. His sandy blond hair hung shaggily over his eyes as he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jeans. I didn’t recognize him as anyone I knew, and wondered how he might have known my dad.

A throat cleared.

I shook my head, turning my attention back to my index cards. “Uh, my dad, he, uh, he was one of a kind, and after Mom died, he really stepped up. I couldn’t have asked for another dad like him.” My jaw tightened and my hands closed firmly around the paper, crushing them. “And he didn’t deserve to die like he did.” I cursed under my breath. “He deserved…he deserved better.” I ended lamely, dropping my clenched fists to my sides, my gaze on the ground they were about to lower my dad’s coffin into.

Six feet of dirt. That was where my dad would live from now on. In the dark and cold, all alone forever. I’d never hear his voice again. Hear him yell and slam the football down on the ground from the other side of the house when his teamed scored.

Tears burned in my eyes and I didn’t fight them.

It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair.

“Thank you, Braxton.” The priest placed a hand on my back and gave me an awkward pat before nudging me gently forward.

I swiped a hand across my face and headed back to my seat. For some reason, my eyes drifted to where the letterman jacket guy had been, but he was gone. Putting it out of my mind, I sat beside Aunt Christine and let her wrap her arm around me. I leaned into her embrace. Her black, long-sleeved dress smelled of the expensive perfume she always wore, something French I couldn’t pronounce, but it made me feel better. It was something familiar in this depressing place.

Aunt Christine was my dad’s twin. However, while he had been tall and built like a mob boss, something we always joked about, Aunt Christine was petite with freckles all over her pale skin. The only things they had in common were the dirty blond of their hair and their light brown eyes. Two features I’d inherited as well. Thankfully, my build leaned more toward Aunt Christine’s and not Dad’s. I couldn’t imagine trying to pull my tube top on over shoulders that big.

A small giggle escaped me.

“You okay, Brax?” Aunt Christine whispered, leaning toward my ear as the priest finished saying my dad’s last rites.

I nodded and rubbed my face, knowing I probably looked like a drowned rat but not caring. The only person here that even cared about me was Aunt Christine, the rest could just go to hell.

Standing, I took the rose my cousin Billy had passed out to everyone closely related to Dad. As I approached the coffin, my hands shook and my knees threatened to give out on me. The mahogany coffin shined beneath the sunny sky, the bundle of white roses sitting on top only hiding what sat beneath the lid.

I never even got to see him one last time. The officer who came to my door told me that he suffered serious damage when that monster of a truck slammed into him.  There wasn’t enough of him left in one piece for me to identify. They had to use his dental records to get an ID on him just so they knew who to notify.

When they had informed me, I’d begged them to let me see him. I didn’t care how messed up he was. I wanted, no, needed to see him. A social worker from the police station had to sit with me until Aunt Christine came to console me.

“Your dad wouldn’t want your last memory of him to be that way,” Aunt Christine had told me, and she’d been right. I didn’t want to remember my dad like that.

I wanted to remember him leaving the house, laughing and joking about getting to the store before all the dogs got away. He was such a nerd. Like hot dogs could run away.

Shaking my head, I clutched the rose to my chest and smiled through my blurring vision before taking the final step forward. I placed the rose on the casket and rested my hand on the wood surface for a brief second. “Bye, Dad.”

I moved to the side as I waited for my aunt and everyone else to get through the line. Some said nothing, others said a few words, and one woman from the grocery store threw herself onto the coffin and howled like a banshee. Dad said she gave him her store discount every time he went. I always kind of thought she had a thing for him. Looks like I was right.

Aunt Christine shook her head and smiled, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you home. I hope you like casserole, because we’re going to be eating it for weeks to come.”

I groaned and followed her to the car. On the way, we passed by a caretaker clearing out some dead flowers. Giving him a polite nod, I turned away from him only to see that guy again.

He was standing off to one side, not talking to anyone, and no one even paid him any mind as they walked to their cars. Frowning, I took a step toward him.

“Hey, young lady.” A hand touched my elbow, and I shifted around to see the caretaker. He was an elderly man with a receding hairline and more wrinkles than not, but his eyes were kind and gentle as he stared down at me.

“Yes?”

Dropping his spotted, wrinkled hand, the caretaker offered it to me in greeting. “I’m Edgar. I’m in charge of these grounds.”

Not sure why he wanted to talk to me, I shook his hand with uncertainty. “Nice to meet you, I’m Braxton.”

He chuckled, which turned into a cough. Releasing my hand, he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his pleated, sage-colored pants. “I apologize. I’m sure you’re wondering why I stopped you, but you see, I’m looking for someone who can work the night shift. I’m getting too old to stay up all night.” He chuckled and pounded his chest. “Not like you youngins.”

“Okay,” I drawled out, stupefied by his explanation.

“Anyway, I had a college kid helping me out during the weekends, but sadly…” He paused, a morose look crossing over his features. “He passed away a few months ago and I haven’t been able to find anyone to replace him.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The words came out robotic, something I was sure I was going to have repeated to me in length over the next few days.

He waved me off. “My point is, you look about his age and I was just wondering…do you need a job?”

Taken aback, my brows furrowed together. “Excuse me?”

Edgar whipped his head back and forth rapidly. “Not that I’m saying you look like you need one, but I just…” He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I’m desperate.” An awkward silence filled the space between us, and then by some miracle Aunt Christine called for me just then.

“I’m really sorry.” I stepped away from him. “But I have to go.”

Digging into his pocket, Edgar pulled out a card and handed it to me. “Think about it. It would only be on the weekends, the pay is really good, and you get dental.” He gave me a perfectly white toothed smile, and I couldn’t tell if they were dentures or not.

I reluctantly accepted the card and tucked it into my pocket with a curt nod. “I will. Thank you.”

Hurrying away from him as quickly as I could, I ducked into my Aunt Christine’s car. Shutting the door, I took one last look out the window at my dad’s final resting place. If I worked there, I could see him all the time. Or at least be near him.

I shook my head and huffed a laugh. What was I thinking? Work at a cemetery? I wasn’t that hard up for money.

Dad’s life insurance had been enough to cover his funeral and the rest of his debt, leaving me a substantial sum that would last me for a while. Although, I didn’t really care about giving up my weekends, since I didn’t party with the rest of the students at my Hill Valley College—a small four-year college that was a far cry from Richmond.

Thinking of the college that douchebag Peyton attended made my hackles rise. Crossing my arms snuggly against my chest, I glared out the window. Did they bury him here as well? If they did, I needed to buy some eggs to throw at his grave. Immature, yes. But it would make me feel better. I hoped.

“What did Mr. Homing want?”

My aunt’s voice interrupted my seething. I sat up and dropped my arms, pulling the card out of my pocket. “Nothing really. Just wanted to see if I wanted a job.”

“Hmm. Did you take it?” Aunt Christine glanced over at me briefly before turning her attention back to the road.

I shrugged. “No. I don’t know. I said I’d think about it.”

Aunt Christine nodded in understanding. “Well, take some advice from someone a little bit older than you.” She paused and winked. “Only a little bit. Save all the money you can. Your financial aid might be taking care of your tuition now, but things change, and you’ll want a good nest egg to help you when that time comes.” She took a deep breath and a soft smile covered her lips. “Besides, the less time you spend all alone in that big house, the better I’ll feel.”

I slumped in my seat. “Yeah. I guess. But a cemetery? Isn’t that a bit…I don’t know…morbid?”

Chuckling, Aunt Christine nudged me with her elbow. “Hey, we’re all a bit morbid every now and again. Think of it as therapy. A chance to get closure.” She shrugged a shoulder. “And who knows, you might like it. Maybe you’ll actually pick a major.”

“Pfft. Doubt it.” I’d been in college for two years now and was nowhere near close to figuring out what I wanted to major in. I’d burnt out on electives and core classes. I knew a handful of nonsense about art history and more than I wanted to know about Egyptian hieroglyphs. Yep, I went through the phase of wanting to be an archeologist. We all did at one point, I figured. But digging in the dirt all the time was so not for me.

Maybe Aunt Christine was right. Maybe working at the cemetery would be just what I needed. Besides, it was only on the weekends. How hard could it be?