The Bucket List by Rachel Hanna EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Rachel Hanna
- Language: English
- Genre: Women’s Friendship Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
I can’t believe it’s been two weeks since my best friend died. Even
after hospice came to take care of her, she lasted another three weeks. She
was strong and feisty and always proving everyone wrong.
I thought she might beat it. If anyone could, it would’ve been Monica.
But cancer won… again.
“You about ready?”
The only saving grace of this whole situation is Annie. She came home
as soon as the school session was over, and she stayed with me. We went
back to see Monica one more time, while she could still sit and talk with us.
She was weak then, and very thin. Thinner than when she went on that
weird cabbage diet in college.
Monica’s memorial service was small. She kept her circle tight, so it
was just a few family members, me, and Annie. Her ex-husband came too,
and he sobbed like a baby when he saw her urn. She wanted to be cremated.
I haven’t thought about what I want when I die, mainly because I’m
terrified to think of such things.
“I just need to put on my lipstick.” The wildest thing I do each day is
put on red lipstick. My husband loved it, so I still do it. Weird, I know, but
it’s a part of me now.
Today is the reading of Monica’s will. It still sounds so weird to say
things like that. She would’ve turned fifty in seven months. Six weeks after
that, I will turn fifty. That makes me feel old, especially without Monica
here.
I was thankful that I got Monica’s ashes. Her mother died years ago, and
her aunt didn’t want them. She wasn’t exactly close to her family, but at
least they came.
I pick up the ashes, which are housed in a chic and shiny silver urn, and
walk toward the door.
“You’re bringing the ashes?” Annie asks, her nose scrunched up.
“It’s your Aunt Monica, not ashes from the fireplace.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond, and instead grab my ugly black
purse and walk out into the garage. Monica bought purses as often as she
bought toilet paper. She loved them. The purses, not the toilet paper.
We get into my older compact car and pull out of the one-car garage
attached to my condo. It’s a nice enough place, especially for someone who
manages a restaurant. After being at Monica’s beach house so much, I
realize just how little space I have. Plus, her deck overlooked the ocean. My
tiny slab patio overlooks Mrs. Ellison’s backyard of weeds and plastic lawn
chairs she’s thrown out like they will recycle themselves.
“How are you feeling, Momma?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Empty. Stunned. A little hungry.”
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