“Come eat first – I made you porridge. Just the way you like it.” She placed a steaming bowl of porridge, sweetened with maple syrup and swimming in cream, next to a hot cup of coffee.
“My favorite!” Jack dug in.
“Come with me, Pops. I’ve something to show you.” Cameron motioned for Jack to follow her into the garage.
Cameron drove to Kirk in the Hills and parked.
“Follow me, Pops.”
As she headed up the stairs to the columbarium, the sun sparkled across the Island Lake water, which was separated from the niches by a manicured swath of emerald-green lawn. The Kirk itself, a magnificent stone structure fashioned after Melrose Abbey, towered over it all, its massive bell tower keeping silent watch along with the statuary and Celtic cross.
There, tucked into a black marble niche, next to two unmarked niches, was inscribed:
Robert F. T. Sharp
1899 – 1999
Jack looked around at the serene setting, quietly contemplating.
“Those two empty niches are ours, Pops. Now we need to move your mom here.”
Cameron leaned down and softly touched the name.
“Pops, we brought him home.”
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