Wrong Address?
Jan. 30th, 2016 12:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alone_lily posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hauntedbostonrpgDouble checking the address she had written, Lily walked up and down the short length of the block between Old Harbor Street and Gates Street, both of the buildings which sandwiched the Funeral home were residences. She had the correct address as copied from an online forum, 146 Dorchester Street. How morbid? She thought and started up the stairs.
When she walked in she was greeted by a young man wearing a dark suit. “Are you a friend or relative?”
“I’m ne…” she was cut off by an older gentleman.
“I’m happy you made it, thank you for coming,” he said with blood shot eyes. “I’m glad she had so many friends.” He was also dressed in a black suit and tie. “She was my little girl,” he drifted into a brief moment of thought.
A sudden realization fell across her face that she was at someone’s memorial service, that she was at this man’s daughter’s service. “Oh.” She wondered how to explain.
He snapped out of his memory. “I’m sorry. I’m Phillip, Colette’s father.”
“Lily,” and before she could say another word, Phillip’s face grimaced, his eyes closed.
“My baby,” his voice cracked. He shook his head and tried to shake loose the reality of his lost. She had seen this all too often in her line of work. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, as she offered her shoulder to cry on, and that he did.
“There, there,” she patted his back lightly. She had been unprepared for this, since it being Saturday and her day off. She had a routine before sessions, to separate her own emotions from that of a client. Only on rare occasions did she comfort a distraught client with a hug. In this case, he was a stranger and she could feel his deep pain. It seemed like a good 30 seconds.
“Dad,” said a woman’s voice about Lily’s age. Phillip unwrapped his arms from Lily, and turned to his daughter. “The service is about to begin, Dad.” Another man, who might have been his son or even his son-in-law took Phillip’s arm.
“I’m sorry, he’s just a mess right now,” the daughter wiped a tear away from her own face.
“No need to be sorry. Colette was so lucky to have a so caring father,” she said. The daughter nodded and then walked back into the room where the service was held. Lily brushed a tear from under her own eye, and followed.
She remained for the entire service. Lost herself to the eulogies, forgetting her real purpose for coming to this address for a while. She stayed in the back of the room and out of the way until the end, and waited until the coast was clear.
Was this even the correct address for G. Host and Company? She wondered.
[opened to Beverley]
When she walked in she was greeted by a young man wearing a dark suit. “Are you a friend or relative?”
“I’m ne…” she was cut off by an older gentleman.
“I’m happy you made it, thank you for coming,” he said with blood shot eyes. “I’m glad she had so many friends.” He was also dressed in a black suit and tie. “She was my little girl,” he drifted into a brief moment of thought.
A sudden realization fell across her face that she was at someone’s memorial service, that she was at this man’s daughter’s service. “Oh.” She wondered how to explain.
He snapped out of his memory. “I’m sorry. I’m Phillip, Colette’s father.”
“Lily,” and before she could say another word, Phillip’s face grimaced, his eyes closed.
“My baby,” his voice cracked. He shook his head and tried to shake loose the reality of his lost. She had seen this all too often in her line of work. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. His arms wrapped around her shoulders, as she offered her shoulder to cry on, and that he did.
“There, there,” she patted his back lightly. She had been unprepared for this, since it being Saturday and her day off. She had a routine before sessions, to separate her own emotions from that of a client. Only on rare occasions did she comfort a distraught client with a hug. In this case, he was a stranger and she could feel his deep pain. It seemed like a good 30 seconds.
“Dad,” said a woman’s voice about Lily’s age. Phillip unwrapped his arms from Lily, and turned to his daughter. “The service is about to begin, Dad.” Another man, who might have been his son or even his son-in-law took Phillip’s arm.
“I’m sorry, he’s just a mess right now,” the daughter wiped a tear away from her own face.
“No need to be sorry. Colette was so lucky to have a so caring father,” she said. The daughter nodded and then walked back into the room where the service was held. Lily brushed a tear from under her own eye, and followed.
She remained for the entire service. Lost herself to the eulogies, forgetting her real purpose for coming to this address for a while. She stayed in the back of the room and out of the way until the end, and waited until the coast was clear.
Was this even the correct address for G. Host and Company? She wondered.
[opened to Beverley]
