The minister murmured final prayers. Relatives lowered their heads. Kimberly heard none of it. Her mind screamed that something was wrong. Tyler had been sick only two days. Fever. Vomiting. Then sudden collapse. The doctors had spoken in rushed tones and avoided her eyes. The death certificate had been signed quickly. The cremation had been scheduled faster than she could understand.
Beside her stood her husband Brian Keller. He placed a hand on her shoulder and spoke softly.
“It is time, Kim. We have to let him go.”
Behind him stood the housekeeper Sandra Mills. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief but kept glancing at the coffin as if checking that everything was proceeding according to plan.
Kimberly swallowed. Her heart hammered so loudly she felt it in her ears. Inside her coat pocket was a tiny camera she had bought online weeks earlier to watch her front porch after a break in nearby. She had held it all morning like a secret talisman. Now an impossible idea rose in her mind.
I need to see. I need to be with him. I cannot let him go alone.