Chapter Thirty-Two
Chris Ashcroft had so much to do he didn't know where to start. The funeral arrangements were all taken care of; the flowers; the hearse; the burial; invitations, everything. He went through a list of hymns and prayers with the vicar and his daughter, Amy, who was home from university. She was a Godsend. He didn't know how he would have coped without her.
In his oily overalls, he tried to unscrew a bolt while lying on his back beneath a pickup truck he promised to fix by the end of the day. Why he made such promises, he didn't know. "Bloody thing. Why won't you come off?"
Frustration pushing him, anger boiled up from inside him, releasing itself in a torrent of rage aimed at the bolt. He hit it with the spanner several times.
"Dad! Stop!" Amy's voice gave him pause.
