Hushed (12 page)

Archer didn’t look up. “Understand what?”

“Her. Wanting to be buried. Shoved in a box and stuck six feet under.” From his periphery, he could see Vivian looking around the room, like she couldn’t decide if she wanted to come in or not. “She spent so much of her time stuck in this house, and then stuck in a hospital…”

“What were her alternatives?” he sighed. “Be cremated, stuck in an urn?”

“Could scatter her ashes. That’s what I would want.” She swiped at her eyes. “Let them float over the ocean…free.”

Archer lifted his head. Watched her. Didn’t say anything. Vivian’s wishes were not Marissa’s, and Marissa’s were the ones that mattered right now.

Viv sighed and pushed the subject aside. “You’re really not going to stay again? Not even one more night?”

“No.” He smoothed the pad of his thumb over the dolphin’s nose. “Your aunt and grandma will be here, not to mention whoever else flies in. There’s no room for me.”

“You could sleep in my room.” Vivian wandered over to the dolphins, her back to him. “I’d feel better if you were here.”

Archer felt a little pang of resentment at that remark. Yeah, sure she would. But she also had all her family. What about him? Wasn’t he allowed his own time to hurt? “I want to go home, Vivian. I told you that you were welcome to come back with me, but I can’t stay here.”

She turned. The look on her face was not a happy one, but he met her eyes and refused to let his resolve waver. He could hear Evan’s voice in his head, his personal mantra helping him stay strong and not cave in to Vivian’s wants.
‘You need to think of yourself, too.’

A knock on the front door shattered the silence. Archer sighed. Thank God. He could’ve kissed Evan for giving him an escape out of a conversation he knew he didn’t want to have. Vivian’s expression fell, but she didn’t stop him as he slipped out of the room and headed downstairs.

Evan smiled when Archer answered the door. His eyes darted past Archer to Vivian trailing behind him. “Hey. Um… How are you? Am I too early?”

“Not at all.” He
was
early. Early enough Archer suspected he’d skipped a class just to get there.

“I was going to make lunch,” Vivian said. “If you want to come in for awhile.”

Archer tensed. “No, that’s–”

“It seems unfair to make him drive all this way just to turn around and drive back.” She grabbed the back of Archer’s shirt and drew him away from the door. Evan looked ready to snatch him up and drag him off, but after a moment, he reluctantly stepped inside.

They followed Vivian into the kitchen. Archer felt a brief brush of Evan’s fingers against his back and willed himself to relax.
This won’t be as disastrous as you think it will.
He and Evan sat at the dining table while Vivian went through the cabinets and fridge. Archer’s shopping trip that morning resulted in plenty of food to hold her family over for a few days, and a larger bill than he would’ve liked. But at least it meant she wasn’t going to feed them expired lunch meat on stale bread.

Evan folded his hands on the table. Either he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable, or he was doing a good job hiding it. “I, uh, let Roxy know what happened. She was asking about you this morning.”

Vivian frowned. “Oh. Really? She hasn’t even called.”

“She called me,” Archer pointed out mildly.

Evan glanced at him, so obviously trying to tread carefully. “She was worried you had too much on your plate… But she wanted me to tell you if you need anything taken care of, to let her know.”

That sounded like Roxy. She was a good girl like that. Years ago he had hoped she would be a good influence on Vivian—or rather, Vivian’s taste in guys—but no such luck. Roxy was never a girl who let anyone walk all over her the way Viv did. “You could always see if she wanted to stay for a few nights.”

When she turned to get out plates from the cupboard, Archer couldn’t make out her expression. “If there’s room for her to share a bed with me, why can’t you? You did it fine last night.”

His eyes widened.

Had she really just…? Yes, she had. Whether on purpose or not, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t tell by the look on Evan’s face if her attempt at striking a nerve had worked.

Evan’s eyes focused on Vivian sharply as she finished making their sandwiches and placed them on the table, along with sodas and a bag of chips. His voice was laced with strained politeness, but Archer could tell his patience was wearing thin. “You can call her if you change your mind. Archer needs some time to sort through all this, too.”

Archer tore off a bit of his sandwich and lowered his eyes. He didn’t want to see what kind of looks the two were exchanging.

“All the more reason,” Vivian pulled her chair out to sit and jerked it back in with more force than was necessary, “for him not to be in his apartment all by himself.”

Evan didn’t skip a beat, but he smiled, almost too sweetly. “Oh, he won’t be alone. I’ll be with him.”

Vivian’s gaze darkened. Just like that, Evan had won. She couldn’t say another word without coming across as a complete bitch. Archer didn’t know whether to laugh or start dreading how this would come back later to bite him on the ass. Perhaps for now, he’d settle for eating his sandwich and smiling to himself.

§

It was dark again by the time Evan got him home. No sooner had Archer haphazardly discarded his jacket and boots than he collapsed into bed, face buried into his pillow. Sleep hadn’t exactly come easy the night before with Vivian plastered all over him.

He could hear Evan moving around in the living room, opening the closet door—hanging up Archer’s jacket, probably—before he came into the bedroom. Archer didn’t move. He wanted to go to sleep and hoped when he woke up, Marissa would be alive. That the cops weren’t hunting for Richter’s killer. And maybe, just maybe, last night with Vivian hadn’t really happened.

The mattress sank a little where Evan sat down beside him. He touched a hand to Archer’s hair. “Do you want me to go?”

Archer didn’t look up, but reached a hand out, fumbling blindly until he found Evan’s shirt. His fingers curled in the fabric, holding him there.

Don’t go. Don’t ever go.

Evan stretched out beside him. After a few minutes, Archer rolled onto his side and opened his eyes.

The room was dark but he’d adjusted to it enough to see the worried lines of Evan’s mouth, the slight crinkle between his brows. How strange it was to have someone worried about him. Going so far out of their way to make his life easier, to blunt the edge of his pain. No one had ever done that before…certainly not the people who should have.

“I would like it,” Archer began, struggling with words that should’ve been simpler, “if you…stayed here with me.”

Some of the concern ebbed away and a small smile replaced it. “You’re such a pain.” He brushed the dark hair from Archer’s face, sliding his fingers through it. “I’m not going anywhere until you kick me out. That’s how it goes.”

He didn’t want Evan to stop petting him. It reminded him of how tired he was, and how such a soft touch could chase away even the worst of situations. “Why…? Why bother?” The hand petting him stilled, cupping the back of his neck.

“Because you’re my friend, Archer.” Evan lowered his lashes. “You’re important to me. And I don’t think enough people in your life pay enough attention to how you feel.”

It made no sense. Evan gave and asked for nothing in return, but gratefully accepted what little Archer could offer. He’d never done anything amazing for Evan. Never gotten rid of someone or something that hurt him. Hadn’t been there for him through any traumatic, life-altering events or whatever.

What was there of interest when his entire world revolved around Vivian? And yet, somehow, without him noticing it, Evan had slipped beneath his skin. Somewhere along the line, the life he thought he lived for no one but Vivian didn’t seem to exist anymore. There was Vivian, and there was Evan. Winter versus Summer.

“Marissa would have loved you.” He didn’t know why he said it, but there it was. “She had such a big heart. I think…life got too big for her. She didn’t know what to do with her kids, didn’t know what direction to go in. But she loved me. And she would’ve loved you.”

“I wish I’d gotten to meet her,” Evan murmured. Fingers against Archer’s face again, tickling his jaw. Soothing. “I’m glad you had her. Someone to be there for you growing up.”

Archer’s vision blurred. The damned tremors found their way back into his hands, and he curled them tightly against his own chest. Evan’s forehead touched his. So close, they were sharing breath. “I can’t stand it when you look at me like that,” Evan whispered.

Archer curled his hands tighter, nails biting into his palms. “Like what?”

“Like your heart is breaking.”

He couldn’t speak. The words lodged in his throat and stayed there. Didn’t his heart have enough stitches and cracks to last a lifetime? Breaking, healing, breaking. And yet he put his trust in the few people that mattered, set himself up for being struck down again and again.
Everyone lets you down, it’s a fact of life,
Marissa told him once.
The key is to know when they’re doing it because they don’t care enough to try not to.
Did Vivian hurt him again and again because she didn’t care enough not to?

Marissa wasn’t there for him to ask.

A soft noise came from Evan’s throat as Archer moved in closer. He slid an arm across Evan’s waist, pressed his face against the warmth of his throat. Tried not to cry. Not over Vivian, not over Marissa. But Evan was right—his heart hurt, and what could he do but wait for the pain to go away?

“Don’t hide,” Evan whispered. Archer said nothing, but he laid there with Evan’s arms around him.

And cried for the first time in years.

Tuesday, October 21
^st

“What do you wear to a viewing, anyway?” Archer asked. Evan helped him pick out something appropriate, leaving him with a nicer outfit for the funeral the following day.

Two funerals in the last few months. First Brody’s, now Marissa’s. The funeral itself wasn’t until tomorrow, but the viewing would be at the chapel today in the same funeral home where Brody’s service had been held. There’d been no viewing for Brody. He’d been dead for over a week by that point, and no one would’ve gone anyway. Even among his family he hadn’t been very popular.

Marissa’s service, though, was rushed. That was mostly his doing; Vivian didn’t want her family around for weeks. Over and done with as quickly as possible.

Evan insisted on driving him, never mind if he missed more of his classes. Archer was in no mood to argue. The day ahead seemed so daunting, even with Evan along for the ride. The family-run funeral home sat off the side of the road, surrounded by tombstones and wrought iron gates while the lonely spired chapel top stretched for the sky.

Archer recognized grandmother Beatrice and Marissa’s sister, Nancy, near the front of the funeral home with their respective husbands, whose names Archer couldn’t remember. The women in the family always stuck out. The guys either blended into the background or weren’t there at all. Maybe it was a Hilton family thing.

Nancy was the spitting image of her sister, if Marissa were ten years older and had a smoker’s cough. Her eyes were red when she looked at Archer. The old-fashioned mourning veil hid Bea’s face too well to see if she’d been crying, too. It’d been a few years; maybe they didn’t recognize him.

“Can I help you?”

He’d intended on slipping past them, but this was their loss, too; he supposed he owed them some sort of condolences. “I’m here to pay my respects to Marissa,” he said. “I’m Vivian’s friend.”

Beatrice seemed to recognize his face. “Oh. Yes. Archie, wasn’t it?”

His jaw tensed. “Archer, yes.”

She nodded solemnly. “Sorry to tell you that Vivian isn’t here. She couldn’t bring herself to go inside.”

So she just left?
Archer bit back the curse dancing on the tip of his tongue. “That’s all right; I’ll give her a call later. Excuse me.” He started to step forward. No one moved. The two women glanced at one another then back at him. Nancy smiled faintly.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Marissa’s will said if we had a viewing, she didn’t want anyone but the immediate family present. You’re welcome to come back to the service tomorrow.”

Archer curled his hands at his sides. They weren’t going to let him in? Didn’t they know who he was, how important he’d been to Marissa? “I was there the night she died,” he ground out. “I’m one hundred percent sure she’d have no problems with me going in to see her.”

Nancy nodded. “I know. But her will stated…”

“Fuck her will,” he snarled. “Out of all her kids, who do you see here? Is it Brody? Is it Vivian? No.
I’m here
, and she always told me I was like a son to her. Why can’t you just let me…” The words caught in this throat, grinding like broken glass. His shoulders shook and all he could think was,
They don’t know. They don’t know I loved her like my own mother. She would’ve wanted me in there. Vivian would want me there.

“I think you need to learn to have some respect, young man,” Nancy’s husband, What-the-Hell-was-his-name, spoke up and stepped around his wife, who’d started crying all over again. “This is a family ceremony, and you aren’t family. You’re upsetting my wife, so I’d appreciate it if you left.”

How satisfying would it be to slam a fist into the guy’s face? None of them understood. None of them cared. “There’s not a one of you here who knows what Marissa would have wanted,” he hissed.

Evan took his hand, fingers lacing together. When he tugged, Archer didn’t resist. No one said anything.

All this way for nothing.

They got back into the car, and Archer slumped down, staring out the window. Evan fussed with the keys. “We could come back later, you know,” he offered. “Once everyone’s gone.”

Archer locked his eyes on the group by the door, who were still staring after him. “They’ll tell the funeral director not to let me in.” He could call Vivian. Ask her to come up there and explain to everyone he belonged in there, but he didn’t think she’d do it.

He glanced over. Evan was watching him, worried. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back for the gas.”

“Knock it off; I’m the one who insisted on driving.” Evan started up the car. “It doesn’t need to be a waste, anyway. Let’s get something to eat, and we’ll swing by later to see if we can get in. How’s that?”

Archer had little desire to do much of anything, but that included arguing. He needed to come back, whether he wanted to deal with it or not. “The red dress.”

Evan blinked. “Do what?”

“Marissa wanted to be buried in this…red dress of hers.” He looked down, watching their fingers still laced together. Unsure what to make of it.

“And you wanted to make sure they put her in it.”

“I doubt it was in her will. But she told me, and if I can’t do anything else, then I can at least make sure she’s wearing the dress she wanted.”

“And if she’s not?” Evan turned out onto the street. “What will you do about it?”

Archer opened his mouth, closed it again, frowned. There wasn’t a lot he could do, he guessed, but he needed to try. “It was her favorite dress… I should’ve looked for it at her house the other night.” If the dress was in Marissa’s closet, what would he do? Take it? Try to convince the funeral home to change her?

“Well.” Evan gave his hand one last squeeze. He sounded cheerful despite everything. “I guess we should stop by Vivian’s and see if it’s there, right?”

§

They grabbed a quick lunch at a restaurant up the road before heading to Marissa’s. No one had returned from the viewing yet, and Vivian’s car wasn’t there, either. No one home. Better that way. Archer had a key and let himself inside.

He slipped upstairs with Evan on his heels. Sunlight warmed the rest of the house, but Marissa’s room was shrouded in darkness, shadows and captured light playing tricks on the surface of dolphin snow globes. He headed straight for the closet, rifling through the hangers. The overwhelming, familiar aroma of rain and gardenia filled his lungs, and it made the need to see to Marissa’s last request all the more desperate.

The red dress stuck out amongst greens and earthy browns. He pulled it out, overly delicate in his movements and held it out at arm’s length. Evan lingered near his side, watching silently.

“It’s nice.”

Archer quirked a smile. It was plain, honestly. Nothing special about it. But it was what Marissa wanted.

As they slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen, the front door opened.

She’s home.
Archer swore inwardly. Evan’s eyes widened. Did they run? Did they greet Vivian casually, like they weren’t sneaking around her mother’s house? Did he call her out on not showing up to the viewing? He didn’t know how to explain it to her, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed Evan’s hand and ran.

They slipped silently out through the back door before Vivian saw them, down the back steps, around the side of the house and through the gate. No sooner had they dove into the car than Evan had them rolling away from the curb. Archer held his breath. Waiting for Vivian to open the front door and see them. To call and ask what the hell he was doing.

But they made it down the street without incident, and he could breathe again. Evan started to laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to sneak out of someone’s house before.”

Archer blushed, breathless. “I didn’t know what to say to her if she caught us. ‘Hi, just borrowing your dead mother’s dress’?”

“You could’ve told her the truth,” Evan mused.

“Could have.” Archer didn’t think it would go over well. ‘
Why’d you tell him about the dress and not me? Why wouldn’t Mom let me know something like that?’
A million things he didn’t want to hear. “Too late for that now. Let’s get back to the funeral home and see what we can do.”

§

Archer tossed the hanger into the backseat and gingerly folded the dress before getting out of the car to head into the funeral home. A stout man in a button-up shirt and slacks that were a little too short on him greeted them just inside the door. “Hello, gentlemen,” he said warmly. “How may I help you?”

Here goes nothing.
“I’m a member of the Hilton family,” Archer said. “I’m here for the viewing.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The man pursed his lips. “I’m afraid that ended about thirty minutes ago. Everyone just left.”

Archer forced a smile. “Running late, I know. If I could just have a few minutes…”

The man stroked his chin like he was used to having a beard there. His worried, beady eyes went from Archer to a nearby door and back again.

“It’s just for a few minutes,” Evan spoke up. He pulled off looking mournful rather well. “We drove all this way to see her, and it would be devastating if we didn’t get to say good-bye.”

The director sighed. “Well, just for a few minutes, but I have another viewing scheduled…”

Archer tuned him out.

They were led to the door the man had glanced at moments ago, into a small room with a few chairs, flowers, soft lighting—and Marissa’s casket. Their host gave them a polite nod and a sympathetic smile, shut the door, and left them alone.

A quiet ambiance of music wafted through the air but Archer couldn’t tell where it came from. He hung at the back of the room, staring straight ahead. From this angle, he couldn’t see Marissa lying in her coffin, and for the first time he thought maybe it was better that way. What was he doing, anyway? She was dead. She wouldn’t care what dress they put her in.

What’s wrong with you? You’ve seen plenty of dead people before.

He’d watched his own father die. Of course, he loved Marissa more than he loved his dad. And the other people he’d killed…he hadn’t cared about any of them. Looking into the face of someone you cared about and knowing they were gone wasn’t the same.

“Archer.” Evan’s voice startled him. He dug his heels in, rooted to the ground. “Archer,” Evan said again, sterner this time. “You wanted to do this, now we’re here. You’re not gonna get another chance.”

Archer willed his body to move, carrying him across the room. At least her casket was nice. Dark cherry wood, lined in black, plush velvet. Of course it was nice. Archer had spoken to the funeral director on the phone the other day and found out Marissa had everything planned and paid for.
‘She wanted to take the burden off her family,’
the funeral director had explained in a patient tone. In a way, Archer felt relieved. Vivian couldn’t have handled it.

But the person lying in the coffin wasn’t Marissa. Not anymore. Her skin was too waxen and pale. Her blonde hair hung in ringlets around her face, and her lipstick was a shade of red too bright. She never wore lipstick, much less something so tacky. She only ever curled her hair for special occasions. And he couldn’t
feel
her there. This thing lying before him was an empty shell, nothing more.

“The dress she’s wearing,” he murmured to Evan, “she never wore it. Said it looked like something you’d wear to a funeral.”

Evan gave a wry smile. “Funny how things work out.”

Archer glanced at the door. How bad would it look if beady-eyed-man returned and caught them undressing a corpse? ‘
This isn’t what it looks like’
probably wouldn’t save them. “Can you guard the door?”

Without a word or even a question, Evan relocated to the door. No lock on the knob, so he leaned against it instead. Archer turned back to Marissa, shoved up the bottom half of the coffin lid and got to work changing her.

He’d always made it a point not to touch the bodies he killed. Too much of a risk of leaving evidence behind. He would check for a pulse and go on his way. So the coldness of Marissa startled him at first, made his stomach roll, but he forced himself through it.

Thankfully the dress she was wearing came off with little effort, and he tossed it to the floor to deal with later. The trick was not staring at her, noting how he could count every one of her ribs even through her slip, how skeletal she looked, and trying not to let his vision blur.

It’s not her. It’s not her anymore.

Someone knocked on the door. He bolted upright and looked to Evan.

“Gentlemen? I’m sorry to cut this short, but I really have another viewing to prepare for…”

“Just a few more minutes,” Evan called back. “We’re, uh. We’re praying.” He gestured to Archer to hurry it up.

He quickly tried to get Marissa redressed. Her limbs were so stiff it made getting her arms through the sleeves tricky. Her hair was mussed by the time he had her settled again.

Better. Much better. She looked more like herself now. More at peace.

Another knock, more impatient. Archer touched a hand to her cheek. Leaned down, kissed her forehead.