After the Funeral

When he entered the house, the first thing Sam did was open all the windows. It was early morning and he didn’t like how eerie the pale sunshine felt without bird song to accompany it.

Then he put a pot of coffee on, and soon the steady gurgling of the coffee maker began to brighten up the shadows in the kitchen that the sunlight couldn’t reach.

Monica hadn’t paid the electricity bill, he realized, as he attempted to flick on the hallway light. Resigning himself to the darkness, he strode down the hall, his loafers leaving damp footsteps on the carpet behind him as he made his way into the first room on the right.

The light switch didn’t work in there, either, so Sam began to hum tunelessly as he hunted down Gemma’s favourite toy-- a shaggy grey elephant with a blue scarf.

When he turned to exit the little bedroom his black overcoat snagged on one of the bedposts, and he froze.

For a split second he’d thought it was his daughter’s hand, tugging on his clothing like she always did, asking him to stay for just one more weekend.

Then he shook himself and left the small dark room behind him, retracing the damp footsteps he’d left in the hallway and making his way to the front door, stuffed elephant in hand.

He frowned down at the toy as he placed it in the passenger’s seat, wondering why it wasn’t familiar to him.

Monica had insisted that it had been Gemma’s favourite and he supposed she’d be much more likely to know about their daughter’s favourite things than he would.

She’d told him so often enough.

Frowning, Sam turned the key in the ignition and resolved not to allow himself to become distracted again as he had to get to the office in a few hours and if he wanted to have time to stop by the motel Monica was staying at he couldn’t afford to sit alone in his car and stare at a stuffed elephant for a half hour.

…….

By the time he reached the motel it was almost noon.

Taking firm hold of the elephant without looking at it he left the car and proceeded through the empty parking lot to room number six.

The door was yanked open a second after he knocked and he suddenly found himself standing in front of the small, underclad figure of his ex wife.

She scowled without preamble, sharp green eyes narrowing and thin lips pulling down into a frown. “What are you doing here?”

“You wanted this,” he said stiffly, and watched as she looked down at the stuffed elephant gripped tightly in his hand. When she looked back up her expression had shifted. She took a step back so that her face was hidden slightly by the shadowed doorway of the motel room.

“She wasn’t yours, Sam.”

He dropped his gaze and nodded. He’d suspected that, of course, but it didn’t seem to matter as much as he thought it would.

It hardly mattered now.

He pushed the elephant gently into her hands but her fingers didn’t tighten enough to hold it, so he left his hand outstretched, pressing the small grey form against her belly and between her hands.

She looked at him and he thought for a moment that she was waiting for him to leave, but then she moved closer and rested her chin atop his shoulder and he leaned his head against hers, revelling in the familiar feel of soft hair against his cheek.

“You smell like her,” she said.