Selkie

Chapter Two

Chapter two

Dad's funeral was awful. The. Absolute. Worst. It was well attended and sombre and took place in a beautifully appointed room, but it was a nightmare. Did you know that some people who are not Catholic still opt for an open-casket funeral? It turns out those people exist. It turns out my family are those people. I don't recommend embalming. Dad looked like a shrunken wax doll of himself, but Mom kept talking about how handsome he looked in his blue suit. It must have been the grief talking. I wish I didn't have that memory. I wish I could remember how he was before cancer when he was healthy, ruddy-cheeked, and strong. My Dad was always the most solid man I knew. It didn't make sense that he'd kept something so big from us for so long. Twenty years of silence. Twenty years of raising a stranger's child as his own. Illegally I might add. I always thought it was weird that my name was Edith May Murchadha Miller. Murchadha is a strange middle name unless it is secretly your surname. It didn't make any sense, just like it didn't make any sense that he was dead.

After the funeral, I drove Mom straight to the airport. She had visibly wilted by the end of the receiving line, and I felt a bit like a bodyguard maneuvering her away from the other mourners. Dad had been a popular man. He was not famous by any means, but he was well-liked in the community. Young man after young man came up to my Mom to tell her how he had changed their lives.

I would have felt differently if I hadn't read his letter. I would have been as awe-struck by the passing of so great a man as those meat-headed bros were? I would have been less angry? I would be less angry? Right?

The thing about being mad at a dead man is that there isn't anywhere to go with that rage.

There is no way to fix this. There is no chance for him to crush me in a big bear hug, smelling of freshly cut grass and leather. There's no way for him to make this better. To tease me about my major at College and tell me he's proud of me because no matter what I do, I give it my all. Even though we both know that he wished I was more of an athlete.

My Dad could fix anything, but he couldn't fix this.

My 'Dad' died in the guest room downstairs. Not just his body but who he was to me.

We converted the pretty yellow room into a kind of hospice, and the medical equipment remained. Silent now. Sitting like otherworldly creatures in the fading light. I'm sure aunt Liz has had it picked up by now - they probably donated it to some charity or other. But I spent the night after the funeral there. Sitting in silence and wondering who he really was. What sort of man takes a baby, no questions asked?

A grieving one. But does grief excuse kidnapping? Lying? Fraud?

I'm not proud of what I did next. I opened my Dad's liquor cabinet and helped myself to a special bottle of scotch. Then I sat in that room, and I finished it. 

Of course, that meant it wasn't just grief that made me look like I was one breath away from my casket the next morning.

I had never been that sick before that weekend, and I hope I never get that sick again.

How do you feel about funeral sandwiches?

Me? I kept one of the trays I was supposed to drop off at the youth shelter. It got me through the weekend. The long weekend. But let me tell you, I will never look at an egg salad sandwich the same way. That's a sad sandwich now. It's completely ruined picnics for me.

I spent the rest of the weekend packing my own bags and nursing my well-earned days-long hangover. I didn't even shower until just before the appointment with the lawyers.

But I wasn't idle either. The deeds said the properties were in Taylor, BC, Canada and on an island called Hoy somewhere in Scotland. A quick search showed me two picturesque towns.

So, I packed a sweater-heavy suitcase and promised myself I'd see these properties just as soon as I figured things out with the lawyer.

I flipped a coin. Heads for Canada, tails for Scotland. Canada won.

I couldn't make heads or tails of the financial information, but it sounded like I had just come into a small fortune. So that's nice. A silver lining. I immediately upped the limit on my credit card. Wouldn't you?

But that isn't why you're reading this is it? You want to know about what happened later - the grand adventure? The romance? The thrill? Well - buckle up.