Page 23 of Unearthed Dreams (Sable Point #3)
Chapter Twenty
KAI
A week. It took seven days for Billy to finally let go. Seven days of sitting in that hospital room, watching machines track his decline, listening to his breathing grow more labored until it finally... stopped.
Now I was driving back to Sable Point in utter silence with a cardboard box of ashes riding shotgun.
The July sun beat down mercilessly through the windshield, making a mockery of the darkness churning in my chest. Everything Billy Callaghan had been—bar owner, lost soul, father who never got the chance—reduced to dust and bone fragments in a temporary container.
My fingers kept drifting from the steering wheel to brush against the rough cardboard, like touching it might make this feel more real.
The funeral home had offered something nicer, more permanent, all polished brass and engraved plaques, but what was the fucking point? Soon these ashes would be scattered somewhere meaningful, somewhere Billy might have liked to rest. If I only knew where that was .
Despite the fact that we barely knew each other, Billy was the closest thing I ever had to a dad.
The man who donated half of my DNA was nothing but a ghost in the wind.
My foster father wasn’t much better, treating me like nothing more than a monthly check, barely noticing when I’d sneak out to get high with Kelsey. But Billy? We’d hit it off instantly.
The box shifted slightly as I took a curve too fast, and my heart lurched. I steadied it with one hand, remembering how Billy’s hands had trembled as he poured me that first drink. Back then, his hair had been mostly brown, his mind still sharp enough to recognize the lost look in my eyes.
The first time we’d met, Kelsey had been bitter and upset—unable or unwilling to forgive, I wasn’t sure which.
She’d spat words like poison, cursing him for never looking for her, never caring enough to find her.
But how could he have known? Her mother never told him he had a daughter, and by the time we tracked him down, Kelsey was too far gone to see the pain in his eyes.
The memories hit harder than the whiskey we’d shared that night.
After Kels had passed out in the shitty motel room we’d rented, drowning her anger in whatever pills she’d scored, I went back to Callaghan’s.
Sat at the bar while Billy closed up, and shared a beer with the man my wife was determined to hate.
He didn’t try to explain or defend himself. Just listened. Understood. Saw me in a way my own father never had.
Before I’d even realized I’d cross the town line into Sable Point, the familiar sight of Rosie’s neon sign glowing in the early morning fog pulled me from my dark thoughts. I hadn’t eaten in... I couldn’t remember how long. But food wasn’t why I was here.
I pulled into Rosie’s lot, killing the engine but letting my hands rest on the wheel. The thought of leaving the box in the car felt wrong—disrespectful somehow—but carrying my father-in-law’s ashes into a diner felt equally absurd.
After three tries, my hand finally found the door handle.
The summer heat hit me like a physical wall as I stepped out, my legs stiff from the drive.
I stood there a moment, squinting in the harsh morning light, before reaching back in for the box.
My fingers curled around the cardboard edges with more care than I’d ever handled anything in my life.
The walk from my car to Rosie’s front door felt endless.
Twenty feet of cracked pavement might as well have been twenty miles.
Each step made the box feel heavier, like Billy’s ashes were gathering weight from all the things left unsaid between us.
A semi roared past on the main road, and I tucked the box closer to my chest, protective of this final piece of him.
The familiar red awning offered a strip of shade, and I paused there, studying my warped reflection in the window.
Seven days of hospital chairs had left dark circles under my eyes.
My white hair was a mess, and my shirt looked like I’d slept in it—which I probably had.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d changed.
The bell chimed as I pushed through the door, the scent of coffee and bacon wrapping around me like a hug I didn’t deserve. The diner was empty except for a few regulars nursing their morning coffee. Behind the counter, Rosie looked up from where she was rolling silverware in paper napkins.
Her eyes widened at the sight of me. Instead of the pity I’d been dreading, her expression held something softer. Understanding.
“Sit,” she commanded, already reaching for the coffee pot. “You look like hell, honey.”
I slid onto a stool at the counter, carefully setting the box between my elbows like some macabre place setting.
My hands lingered on the cardboard corners, reluctant to break contact.
The scratchy texture had become familiar over the past hour’s drive, almost comforting in its permanence.
The counter’s smooth Formica surface felt wrong in comparison, too slick, too artificial.
“Rosie, I need...” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I could use your help.”
She set a steaming mug in front of me, then braced both hands on the counter. “Whatever you need.”
“Billy deserves... something. A memorial. But I don’t—” I swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to...”
“Oh, honey.” Rosie’s weathered hand covered mine. “The bar,” she said decisively, squeezing my hand before letting go. “That’s where it should be.”
I stared into my coffee, watching steam curl up from the dark surface. “I was thinking of selling it, actually.”
The silence that followed made me look up. Her expression was thunderous.
“Like hell you are.” She planted both hands on the counter and leaned forward. “That bar is your home. Billy knew that when he gave it to you. Why do you think he chose you over selling to some developer who’d turn it into another tourist trap? ”
“Because I was the only one stupid enough to stick around?”
Rosie’s eyes narrowed. “Hold that thought, honey.” She disappeared into the kitchen, but I could see her through the order window, phone pressed to her ear. Her voice was too low to make out the words, but she kept glancing at me as she spoke, her expression determined.
“Who’d you call?” I asked when she returned, but she just waved off my question.
“Never you mind. Now, where were we? Ah yes—you being an idiot.” She snorted.
“You really believe Billy kept you around because you were convenient? He watched you bring that place back to life. Watched you take care of the regulars like family. Hell, you even remembered old Mr. Peterson’s wife’s birthday every year, sending him home with her favorite whiskey so they could toast her memory. ”
My throat felt tight. “That’s different.”
“No, it’s not.” Rosie’s voice softened. “You belong here, Kai. Running that bar, being part of this community. And Billy?” She nodded at the box in my hands. “He knew it before you did.”
“I don’t know how to do this alone.” The admission was barely above a whisper.
“Good thing you don’t have to.” Rosie grabbed her order pad, pointedly ignoring the way I kept glancing at the kitchen phone.
“Now, about this memorial. I’m thinking we open the bar early, around four.
Give people time to come by, share stories.
I’ll handle the food—don’t argue with me on this—and we’ll need. ..”
She kept talking, making lists, but my mind wandered to that phone call. Rosie knew everything about everyone in this town. Had probably seen more than I realized these past few weeks. The thought made my chest tight.
“Are you even listening to me?” Rosie’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“Yeah, four o’clock, food, stories...” I gestured vaguely with my coffee mug. “Who were you calling?”
A knowing smile crossed her face. “You’ll find out soon enough. Now, about the music. Billy always loved those old country songs?—”
“Rosie.”
“Don’t you ‘Rosie’ me, young man.” She pointed her pen at me. “Some things are better left as surprises. Trust me on this.”
The bell above the door chimed, making us both look up. But it was just Mr. Henderson coming in for his usual breakfast. Rosie’s smile grew wider, like she knew something I didn’t.
“You’ll see,” she said softly. “Everything’s going to work out exactly how it should.”