In my office, I sit down behind my desk as I tell Derek, “Have a seat.”
He doesn’t, at first. Instead he slowly walks around, taking things in. My college diploma hanging on the wall. My Funeral Service Provider License, also on display. Eckert’s business license beside it. In a soft voice, he murmurs, “Look at you.”
For the first time ever, I feel self-conscious about the framed certifications. “Well, when you run a business…” I trail off, unsure how to dismiss the accolades without diminishing them. Maybe the best way to get things moving is to just dive right into the paperwork for his mother’s service. I open a drawer in the file cabinet behind me and pull out the folder marked Duran, Delores. “If you want to get started…”
When I turn back around, Derek has moved onto my bookshelves
