I glanced at the door, then back at Thomas. My time was almost up, and if I didn't copy those numbers down now, they'd disappear into the ground with him forever.
I took out my phone, smoothed back his hair once more, and took a photo of the tattoo.
The knock at the door came softly, then the doorknob clicked.
I tucked my phone away and fixed Thomas's hair.
"Are you ready, ma'am?" The funeral director asked.
"Yes," I replied, staring down at Thomas.
If I didn't copy those numbers down now, they'd disappear into the ground with him.
I sat at the front with my sons and their families for the entirety of the funeral service. I don't remember what was said, and I don't remember crying. All I could think about was that tattoo.
"Mom, are you okay?" Daniel whispered once it was over.
I looked up at him. For a split second, I thought about telling him what I'd seen.
Then his wife, Sally, moved to my side.
"Of course, she's not okay, Dan," Sally said. "Come, Margaret, let's go outside and get some fresh air."
For a split second, I thought about telling him what I'd seen.
That night, I sat in my too-quiet home, staring at the casseroles on the counter.
I opened the photo on my phone, then slowly typed the numbers into my GPS app.
The map blinked, then loaded.
A red pin dropped at a location 23 minutes away.
I zoomed in and stared at the screen.
It was a storage facility.
A red pin dropped at a location 23 minutes away.
I shook my head.
This couldn't be happening. Thomas didn't keep secrets! He was the type of person who kept receipts in labeled folders and had a system for his sock drawer. He told me when he bought new underwear, for Pete's sake!
That was one of the things I had loved about him — you always knew where you stood with Thomas.
I stared down at the red pin on the map.
Except, apparently, you didn't.
This couldn't be happ
