Free Follow the Dotted Line by Nancy Hersage Page B

worked.
    “Why would she pretend he’s dead?” asked Sam, genuinely confused.
    “Who knows?” mused Andy. “She hated it every time Mitch tried to call your dad. She was jealous. Some women are like that. Especially women who marry a guy with children and don’t have any of their own. So she decided to tell us he was dead to get us out of their, you know, busy and satisfying lives,” Andy concluded, with what she thought was just the perfect touch of contempt.
    “And you think a fake cremation would be okay with Dad?” Lil wanted to know.
    Andy considered this and said, “I don’t know. I don’t know what to think.”
    “Well,” Sam pointed out, “Dad still could be dead. These just aren’t his ashes. Whatever’s going on, this test doesn’t actually get us anywhere, Mom.”
    The kid holding the faux remains raised his hand slightly, as if he were waiting to be called on before he spoke.
    “What is it, Harley?” Andy asked.
    “Why don’t you just call Uncle Mark? You know. On his cell. See if he picks up.”
    Out of the mouth of boobs, Andy thought.
    Sam picked up her phone and dialed.
    “Hi, Samantha,” boomed the voice on the other end of the line. “What’s up?”
    “Hi, Mitch. Sorry to call in the middle of work.”
    “No problem.”
    “Listen, I want you to call Dad.”
    “Call him? How do I do that?”
    “You have his cell number, right?”
    “Yeah. But he’s dead, Sam. Remember?”
    “I know. Just call the number.”
    “Call the number? I don’t want to call the number.”
    “Just do it, will you?”
    “Why?”
    “Mom had the ashes tested. They’re questionable. We want to know if he’s still taking calls.”
    “Those weren’t his ashes?!”
    “It turns out there’s room for doubt.”
    “Well, that certainly creeps me out, Samantha. Why have I been nominated to make the call?”
    “Because you’re a big boy, Mitch. Just do it.”
    A long beat, as Mitch considered his responsibilities. “Okay. Hold on.” He clicked off, and the little review committee waited in silence. He was back on the line a minute later.
    “Sam?”
    “Did you get him?”
    “No. The number’s no longer in service,” Mitch told her. “What does that mean?”
    “Damned if I know,” said Sam. “I’ll get back to you.” And she hung up.
    The possibility that Tilda Trivette might have been screwing with Mark Kornacky’s remains seemed to jettison his children into action in a way that the man’s reported death had not. In the two hours before Lilly had to leave for the airport to catch her plane back to Idaho, Team Kornacky came together in a rare show of unity.
    With remarkably little prompting from their mother, the siblings decided that inquires had to be made in Texas to determine if their father was deceased or not. And if he was, determine how and when he died. All of this needed to be accomplished as delicately as possible, preferably without any personal contact with Tilda. As the phone calls flew back and forth between Mitch and Sam and Lilly and Ian, Andy paced the patio trying to stay out of the way. It was another occasion, among an increasing number of occasions, when she felt slightly irrelevant.
    The sun, along with Andy’s patience, began sinking slowly in the west, as all four children continued to caucus via speakerphone in the dining room. She fantasized marching in and volunteering for duty, but they had already made it clear that this was their business, not hers.
    “Mom?” Sam was at the screen door, motioning to her.
    As Andy stepped inside, Lilly pointed to the handset on the table. “Both the boys are on. We’ve talked all this out, and Mitch wants to say something.”
    Her ducklings had a pecking order, Andy knew, that evidenced itself whenever there was a crisis. Ian was on the bottom because he hated asserting himself in any situation where he might hurt someone’s feelings. Sam was perfectly capable of hurting someone’s feelings but only when absolutely