To Let Him In

Chapter 1 - The Funeral

Bree

"She's dead."

When my mother spoke those words about my best friend, time stood still. Tears pooled into my eyes. I hadn't spoken to her in a long time. But I still considered her my best friend. We grew up together playing at each other's houses, telling all our secrets to one another, and crushing over boys in junior high and high school. We grew apart during the summer of graduation. She did her own thing while I started dating the gorgeous Logan Cole. While he and I were getting serious, Trish started hanging around the wrong kind of crowd. I found out she started using street drugs. She didn't have much time to hang out anymore, plus Logan didn't want me around her. I kept tabs on her through her brother, Matt. It was hard on him to see his twin sister go down the road she was headed.

"How?" I asked, even though I felt like I knew already. I opened my car door I'd been standing by. I just got off work and glad she caught me before I began to drive.

"She overdosed. The guy she'd been seeing found her this morning at her apartment." I just sat in my seat as emotions flooded me. "I'm sorry, honey. Mrs. Myers said she would let me know the funeral arrangements."

My heart broke for Trish's mother. They used to be so close until her addiction. Her parents tried to get her help, but she would never take it.

"That's terrible." The tears pooled up finally streamed down my cheeks. "Thanks for calling Mom. I just got off work, so I have to go. I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Be careful."

"I will." I hung up with my mom and couldn't stop thinking about Trish. Her smile and laugh. I immediately regretted not trying to help her more. Maybe if I had been a better friend, she wouldn't have gone so far. A new set of tears streamed down my face as I sat in my car thinking about the loss of my long-time childhood friend.

By the time I reached my house, I'd had time to gain my composure. I wiped the tears from my face and eyes and gathered my things. When I walked through the door, I heard familiar voices. "Mommy!" My two girls raced to me and hugged my legs. They instantly make me smile.

"Were you girls good for Aunt Becca?"

They say "yes" at the same time.

"Of course, they were good for Auntie Becca," my stepsister says. Rebecca is the same age as me. She and her father are from London, so they have the British accent. Her father married my mother when we were ten. Growing up I was always so jealous, but not in a bad way. She was beautiful. Long blonde hair, hazel blue eyes, perfect figure, and the accent made her unique.

When she looked at me, she noticed I'd been crying. "What's wrong?"

I turned to the girls. "You two go watch some cartoons while I talk to Aunt Becca." They obeyed and skipped off to the living room. "Trish was found dead this morning in her apartment. She overdosed."

"Oh, Bree. I'm so sorry." She pulled me in for a hug.

"I just can't believe it. She's only twenty-three. She had her whole life ahead of her." I pulled back and we went to the kitchen. I grabbed a bottle of water out of the fridge. "Mom is supposed to find out when the funeral will be. If it's this weekend, I'll ask Logan to watch the girls."

"Good luck with that. He's such a prick."

I laughed, knowing she's not wrong. Logan and I had married when we were nineteen. We had Abby first, then two years later came Roxy. We divorced when Roxy was a year old. I discovered he was having an affair with a woman from his job. He didn't make the split easy on me. But I survived. I got two beautiful daughters from him. Both have blonde hair like mine. Logan's hair is dirty blonde but mine and the girls is light. Abby got brown eyes from her daddy, but Roxy has my blue ones. They were now five and three. They keep me alive.