Chapter 5: The Man Who Cried at Her Funeral
His name had not been in my life for years.
After the funeral, after the grief settled into something I could carry, Garrett Holloway had simply faded.
He had not been a close friend.
He had been a peripheral figure — someone who had appeared at the right moments, said the right things, and then quietly receded.
The kind of person you don't think to question because they never demand enough attention to be questioned.
I called my neighbor, Ellen, who had lived two doors down from our mother's house for thirty years and still kept a careful eye on the neighborhood.
"Ellen," I said.
"Do you remember a man named Garrett Holloway?
He would have come to Mom's funeral."
A pause.
"Tall man?
Dark coat?
He was one of the ones who helped carry the—" She stopped.
"Yes.
I remember him.
Why?"
"Has anyone been around the old house recently?
Standing outside, maybe.
Not the family who lives there now — someone else."
Another pause, longer this time.
"There was a man," she said slowly.
"A few months back.
I noticed him because he just stood on the pavement across the street for a while.
I thought he might be lost.
But he wasn't looking at his phone or anything.
He was just looking at the house."
"Did you see his face?"
"Not clearly.
He was wearing a cap.
But he was well-dressed.
Drove a dark car."
I thanked her and ended the call.
Clara was watching me from across the kitchen.
"He was there," I said.
She nodded slowly.
"I need to tell you something else.
Something I didn't include in the notebook because I wasn't sure it was relevant." She paused.
"About six months ago, I started noticing that someone had been accessing the online memorial page for Mom.
The one her church set up after she passed.
Someone was logging in regularly — not commenting, just viewing.
And whoever it was had also looked up the property records for the house."
"Garrett Holloway was researching our family."
"Yes.
And I think—" She hesitated.
"I think he may have found out about the estate."
I went still.
"What about the estate?"
"Mom's house.
When she passed, she left it to both of us.
But since I was legally d\*ad, my half was held in a kind of legal suspension.
The estate attorney told you at the time that if no heir came forward within a certain period, it would revert to the county." She looked at me carefully.
"That period ends in four months."
I stared at her.
"He knows about this."
"I think so.
I think he's been monitoring it.
And I think he's worried that if I come forward to claim my inheritance, it opens everything back up.
The accident.
The identification.
All of it."
"So he's not just trying to keep you quiet anymore," I said.
"He's trying to make sure you stay legally d\*ad long enough for your share of the estate to disappear."
"Yes."
I stood up and walked to the window.
Outside, the street was ordinary.
Cars.
A woman walking a dog.
A child on a bicycle.
"He came to her funeral," I said quietly.
"He stood there and he cried.
I remember thinking how kind it was that he came.
I didn't even know how he had heard about it."
"He came to make sure," Clara said from behind me.
"He came to confirm that I was still g\*ne."
I turned around.
"Thursday isn't soon enough," I said.
"I know."
"Can you call Grace Ellison tonight?"
"I already left her a message an hour ago." Clara's phone buzzed on the table.
She looked at it.
Her face changed.
"What?" I asked.
She turned the phone so I could see the screen.
A text message.
No name.
Just a number I didn't recognize.
*I know she's with you.
May you like
Tell her to remember what I said.
This is the last time I ask nicely.*
