Chapter 1
On Remembrance Day, I arrived at Section C, Row Three, Plot Seven, the place where my father's tombstone had stood for years, only to find it gone.
I could have found it with my eyes closed, yet when I stopped in front of the plot, I found a polished pink headstone standing where my father's grave should have been.
Engraved across it in gold were the words: [Starry, Mommy's Forever Little Princess 2013–2025]
A ceramic photo frame shaped like a cat's paw rested beside the stone, displaying a picture of an orange-and-white Persian cat.
The white chrysanthemums slipped from my fingers and landed at my feet.
I squatted down and noticed a smaller inscription carved into the base of the headstone. It read: [With love, Mom—Kaelyn Harvey.]
I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene.
I simply stood there and read every word on that pink headstone three times before pulling out my phone and calling the cemetery management office.
My voice was perfectly steady.
After all, every burial plot in Section C, every plot number, and every maintenance contract in this cemetery had been designed, recorded, and approved by me personally.
*****
The phone rang six times before someone picked up. "Hello, Pinecrest Memorial Park management office.
"This is Julissa Riley, employee number 0217, head of Section C planning."
When I gave my employee number, the person on the other end hesitated for a moment. "Julissa?"
"Could you check the recent records for plot C-3-7? I need to see any transfers, changes, or access logs," I said.
"Sure, just a moment."
On the other end, I could barely hear the faint rustling of papers as they searched through the files.
Standing by that pink stone, the chilly wind at the end of March nipped at me, scattering two petals from my white chrysanthemum.
"Julissa, I found it."
"On March 15th, a man who said he was a relative of the plot owner came in to arrange a temporary storage transfer for the ashes. It was handled by Zavier Thompson."
March 15th, the day after I left for Riverton for the annual funeral industry conference.
"Where did they move it?" I asked.
"Temporary storage locker in Section G, number G-0892."
When I was planning the cemetery, I visited that area. It faced north and never saw the sun all year round; it was the most miserable corner in the whole park.
The temporary storage lockers are stainless steel metal cubicles, about a foot square, and rent for 80 dollars a month.
When I designed Section C, I chose a spot for my dad that faced southeast, so it would catch the first rays of spring sunlight, and I personally transplanted a white magnolia tree beside it.
That white magnolia tree is still there.
Under the tree, there was a photo of a cat.
"Is Zavier there right now?" I asked.
"Yes, do you want me to put you through—"
"No, I'll come in person."
I hung up, but didn't leave right away.
I crouched down and picked up the scattered white chrysanthemum petals, one by one.
My fingers didn't tremble.
When I picked up the last petal, I looked up at that pink stone. [Starry, Mommy's Forever Little Princess.]
My dad passed away at sixty-one, after battling late-stage stomach cancer.
In those last three months, he shrank down to under ninety pounds.
He held my hand from his hospital bed and said, "Sweetheart, the thing I'm proudest of in my whole life is raising you.
"You've planned so many cemeteries for other people. When it's my turn, pick a sunny spot for me, okay? I get cold easily."
It took me three months to pick the right place.
I walked every inch of Section C.
In the end, I picked plot C-3-7, facing southeast, so even on the winter solstice, it would still get two hours of sunlight.
I chose sesame gray granite from Brighton for the tombstone; it was the most weather-resistant, and it wouldn't fade for fifty years.
I wrote the epitaph myself: [Zachary Riley, loving father, 1962-2022. Dedicated by his daughter, Julissa.]
I had the old stonecutter triple-check the spacing, since my dad was a language teacher, and he was a stickler for perfect formatting.
Gerardo had no idea about any of this.
To him, it was just "a grave."
Just a plot he could clear out and use for a cat.
The management office was on the east side of the park, and it only took me seven minutes to walk there.
I'd walked this path hundreds of times. Every time I came to visit my dad, I had to pass through here.
When I pushed open the door, the girl at the front desk recognized me. "Julissa, it's been a while."
"Where's Zavier?" I asked.
She was startled by my tone and pointed toward the back. "She's in the archives room."
I walked down the hallway and pushed open the door to the archives room.
A young man in his early twenties was sorting through files. When he saw me come in, his expression shifted—he looked startled.
"Julissa"
"Did you handle the transfer for plot C-3-7 on March 15th?" I asked.
He stood up so fast that the folder slipped from his hand and landed on the desk.
"Yeah, it was a guy from the family who came in. He said"
"What did he say?" I pressed him.