#Chapter20
When work was just about finished, I received a call from the foyer downstairs. A package had arrived. Seeing it as an opportunity to escape from the tension hovering over the office space, I hurried downstairs and retrieved the box. I took it back upstairs, grabbed a pair of scissors, and got to work. I slid the blade down and to the sides to tear the tape. Once the excess tape was removed, I opened the box.
Whatever joy had been left in me died. I stared at the dark plastic urn nestled in the box's confines. I'd forgotten all about my mother's remains. I was supposed to get a call to pick them up, not have them mailed to me. The hospital was directly across from us. Why didn’t they ring me instead of shipping them over?
