Killing Me Softly (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

After a quick call to my mom, I decided to go home rather than to her house. I tell her that the police have cleared me of suspicion. Brady is at Mom's, and I still felt like punching him. I mean, I always feel like punching him, but in my tired state, I didn't know if I'd be able to restrain myself.

Climbing into bed, I hope that sleep will descend immediately, so of course it doesn't. What a day. First the dream, then telling my mom and the police everything, with a little frisky-Fitzy action in the middle. It should be a weight off my shoulders to have everything out in the open. It should be, but it's not. There are still no answers about Jenna. The police seem to think she disappeared on her own volition. I'm still not convinced. But I don't know that I feel responsible for her death anymore. I wish I could have read more of Rob's journal. I wonder if they'd copy it for me. Probably not. And, if Rob had meant for me to read it, he would have given it to me. That makes me wonder why then, Jenna had it.

Despite my racing mind, sleep finally pulls me under. It's dreamless, for once. Thunder rolling through, cracking sharp and loud, wakes me from my sleep. I look at the clock. It's ten a.m. I can't remember the last time I slept this late. Then I hear it. It's not thunder, it's a hammer. What the hell?

I fly out of bed and into the living room. Max is there with his crew of three. They're working on the windows, re-cording and hanging the ones I had taken apart earlier in the week.

"What ... what are you doing?"

They all whip around and stare at me. I mean really stare, like I don't belong here. They're the ones in my living room. Technically, Armand is on the ladder on the outside of the house, but he's looking into my house as well.

Before I know what's happening, Sinclair loses his grip on the window pane he's holding. Armand leans through the opening and grasps it at the last minute, as Bob lunges at the same time. Armand's sudden weight shift causes the ladder to fall, and then he's hanging over the window frame, feet flailing and kicking. Bob takes control of the ninety-year-old glass, Sinclair grabs onto Armand, and Max comes rushing at me. His hands are on my shoulders, and he drives me back down the hall and into my bedroom. With his foot, he kicks the door shut behind him.

"What are you trying to do?" He sounds ... mad?

"What do you mean, 'what am I trying to do?' I wake up and hear people in my house. Of course I'm going to go check and see what it is. What's your problem?"

"You. You're my problem. Do you understand what could have just happened? Sinclair almost dropped the window."

"No almost, he did."

"Right, but Bob and Armand caught it. Armand could have broken something falling off that ladder."

"Yeah, okay. I'm still not seeing why this is my fault."

He's glares. "Look down."

My eyes glance down and I want to die. Oh. My. God. I'm practically naked. A lacy camisole. No bra, of course. At least my underwear are boy shorts, not a thong. "I ... uh ... I heard .... banging. I didn't know what it was. I wasn't thinking."

Max scoffs. "Obviously not." He looks mad, I think. He's staring at me. Hard. It's making me uncomfortable. Maybe because he's angry. I grab my robe off the end of my bed and throw it on.

"Better?"

"Yes, much."

Wow, it's almost as if the sight of me repulses him. I've never seen Max mad. I've never seen him anything but happy-go-lucky. This is different and not in a good-different sort of way.

"I'm sorry, Max. I didn't know you all were out there. I thought it was thunder. I certainly didn't expect you to be out there with a crew."

"I just figured you were going to get behind schedule with everything." He's standing in front of me, arms folded across his chest. He's in his usual work jeans and a t-shirt. It's a totally different look than Fitzy's.

"Oh, well, yeah. Thanks. Yesterday was a lost day. First my dad and the funeral stuff, then the Fitzy thing and the police station, and then I had to go shopping with Therese to get something to wear to the services. Which, I was going to call you about. Were you planning on coming to the wake? I know you didn't really know my dad, but I'd like it if you were there."

He says nothing.

"What?"

Still nothing.

"Max, say something. Do you not like wakes? I mean, I know it's not like a fun thing but at least it won't be terrible since you didn't know my dad."

"The Fitzy thing?"

Poop. Did I say that?

"It was no big thing. It could have been, but it wasn't."

"As in Detective Fitzsimmons? The one who is investigating you in the disappearance of your sister?"

"Yeah, Fitzy. He was my brother's best friend growing up. It's so hard to think of him as Detective. God, I was in love with him for like half my life. And I'm off the hook with the Jenna thing."

"Go back and explain the Fitzy thing." He is so pissed, and it's making me nervous. And when I get nervous, I ramble. Such an awesome quality.

"Um, you know. I had a dream and he was in it. You were too I think, but he was half-naked. And then I went to his house and he really was half-naked. But when he kissed me, and even though I've been waiting for him to kiss me since I was like nine, it was not what—"

"You can stop right there." Max turns toward the door. "Every time I thought something was going to happen, something got in our way. You kept saying that you weren't interested in a relationship. I thought you meant in general. I should have realized you meant with me. We'll finish up the windows today, but then you're on your own. I'm afraid I won't be able to help you out anymore."

The door opens, slams, and Max is gone.

Wait, what?

I do not need this right now. Figures. I finally get over my phobia of reaching out to someone, and get over the guy who's occupied space in the back of my mind all these years, just to have Max walk out. I mean, Fitzy kissed me. I didn't invite it. I just didn't stop it as soon as I could have. That's a lie. I totally invited it. I guess I should just forget about it. Maybe it's better this way. At least I won't end up accidentally killing him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Wakes are supposed to be solemn occasions. At least, that's what I always thought. I mean, I did grow up next door to a funeral home. It was always freakishly quiet, and we had to be quiet as well. I can't tell you how many times my mom, in exasperation, loaded us into the station wagon to haul us to the park so we could play outside and not disrupt the bereaved piling in at Uncle Peter's.

Somehow, Dad's wake is sort of festive. Not like hey-let's-get-a-piñata-festive, but the overall tone is more positive than sad. I mean, he was kind of a stud in the undertaker world. Wow, there's a sentence I never thought I would say. Dad and Uncle Peter had a very successful business, had staved off the franchises creeping in, and were well liked by, it seems, everyone in town, as well as the three surrounding towns. It is a real celebration of his life.

And I was smart to buy comfortable shoes.

Nonetheless, my feet are aching, my back is aching, and I have a headache from the thick scent of the flowers. I hadn't wanted to go overboard with the flowers, knowing that they go to waste. The nursing home could only take so many arrangements. Brady wanted the full casket blanket. Mom went along with it. Now, here I am, eyes watering from the lilies. Brady is standing next to Mom, having elbowed me out of the way. Tina is sitting in one of the chairs, stone-faced. She has not shed a tear during this whole process. I'm not sure which is worse—her lack of crying, or Brady's over-the-top crying.

"It's just, it was so hard to see him suffer all these years."
Sniff, sniff
. "It broke my heart that he couldn't move. He was always so strong."
Sniff, sniff.

Gag me with a spoon.

Therese sidles up behind me and taps my shoulder. "Do you need this?" She hands me a water bottle. I open it and take a swing. My throat burns as I choke and sputter.

"Oh, by the way, that's vodka, not water."

"What are you trying to do, kill me?" I wipe my mouth.

"No, I'm trying to save you from the malarkey that you're standing next to." Therese knows how I feel about my brother.

"I guess since Jenna isn't here, Brady felt he needed to step into the role of drama queen."

"And what about the Ice Princess?"

"You mean my sister-in-law who hasn't shed a tear? That's pretty much normal. I'm pretty sure her face would crack in half if she ever smiled, so tears would be entirely out of the question."

"I just don't get it. What does he see in her?"

"What does she see in him?" I glance over at Brady. I guess at one point he was attractive. Not as attractive as Fitzy (I get a hot flash just thinking of him), but not bad looking. Now, he's, well, he's sort of let himself go. He looks like he's gestating twins, and his breast size rivals mine. He unfortunately inherited my mom's father's hairline, which starts about halfway back on his head. I think he would look better if he just shaved his whole head but for some reason, he doesn't. His hair, which is showing some gray, is long in the back, and he wears it in a ponytail. It looks stupid. Then, there's the mustache. I don't think I even need to explain about that one.

People keep shuffling past. My dad always called it the funeral shuffle. It makes me smile. At a wake, keep shuffling your feet and keep moving forward, and just get out as quickly as possible. The line of people seems never ending. I'm glad to see everyone got the memo about the funeral shuffle. I glance around Brady at my mom. She seems to be holding up all right. Every so often, her eyes fill, but I'm seeing more smiles than anything else. Like me, she is relieved that Dad's suffering has ended.

A small, very old woman with a walker is standing in front of me. I don't recognize her but I don't always have the best gift for face recognition. She looks to be by herself, which gives me no clue as to who she is. I hope I'm not related to her and am clueless about it. I have to bend down to hear her soft voice.

"Are you the one who was born next to my mother?"

The smile spreads involuntarily across my face. My birth story is quite colorful. My mom was nine months pregnant. Her labor with Brady had been very long and drawn out, so she expected the same with me. She'd apparently had some twinges of pain but thought it would be hours before any action would really happen. My dad got a call that an elderly woman had passed at home, so it was a pretty straightforward case. Mom went with him to pick up the body. The woman's name was Melvina Morris. I know this because just after they got Mrs. Morris loaded and into the back of the hearse and pulled away from the house, Mom's labor went into high gear. Dad pulled off into a parking lot, and my mom went into the back of the car to lie down (yes, next to the dead woman). The paramedics—the ones who had also been at Mrs. Morris' house—drove by and saw my dad pulled over with the back doors open. They stopped to help, in just the nick of time to deliver me. I was born in the back of the hearse next to the expired Melvina Morris. Hence my name, Sadie Melvina. Why couldn't Mrs. Morris' first name have been Helen or Alice or Claire?

I signal to my mom who steps around Brady's girth. "Mom, Mrs. Morris' daughter."

"Oh, bless your heart. Thank you for coming." Mom gives her a hug, careful not to squash the frail woman.

"No, thank you. All of these years, whenever I think about my mother's death, I think about Simon. How much caring and compassion he showed to our family, putting his own family on hold."

"That was how he was. He knew that the families of the bereaved needed some TLC. It was one of the many things that I loved about my husband, although I didn't always appreciate it."

"And you dear, you came into this world just as my mother exited it. I've always wondered how you turned out, and I can see that you turned out beautifully."

I blush. "Thank you. You know that my middle name is Melvina, right?"

Tears fill her cloudy eyes. "No, I didn't know that. Firstly, I'm sorry. That's a horrid name. I was always happy that I wasn't named after her. But secondly," she turns to my mom, "thank you. I'm sure Mom knows and has gotten a big kick out of it."

I'm so glad this woman came. This is what wakes are about. Dad always said that wakes are not for the dead, but for the living. He was right. Hearing stories like this, meeting the people that Dad touched, truly does make me feel better. "Thank you for coming. This means so much." She shuffles on, not in the I-don't-want-to-be-here-any-longer-than-necessary kind of way, but in the geriatric shuffle that befalls one with age.

Fitzy comes through the line. He hugs me awkwardly. I wish I could stay in his arms a moment or two longer, but the tension between us is palpable. One day certainly makes a difference. I can't believe I could have slept with him. I can't believe I didn't. I can't believe I'm thinking about this at my dad's wake. Brady's all hugs and grins and gets out of line to introduce Fitzy to Tina. Hours pass, more quickly than I would have thought, but the day feels eternal still. I know I should be hungry. All I feel is drained. I look at Mom and can tell she feels the same way. Uncle Peter is telling the pall bearers and readers in hushed tones what time they need to be at the funeral home in the morning. I take Mom's arm, ready to escort her back over the lawn to her house. This is one time when living close to the funeral home is a good thing.

"Hey—" Brady steps in front of us. "Are we going out to dinner? Tina's hungry."

Mom sighs wearily. "Brady, I'm just too tired. There's plenty of food back at the house. Tomorrow will be a long day as well."

"You know Tina is on a special diet. She can't eat most of the stuff that you have."

Mom looks at me. I can tell she's about to cave and go out, even though it's the last thing she wants to do. Time to be the bad guy. Sadie to the rescue. Again. "We're going back to Mom's. I'm sure there is something there she can eat. If she were so concerned about it, she should have made something in advance."

"Well, we just figured we'd go out."

"Then
you
go out. Mom and I are going home. There's ziti and meatballs calling my name." It was true. The amount of food that people delivered was insane. There was no way we would be able to eat it all. I would need to look tonight and see what I could freeze for Mom so it didn't go to waste. Ziti, casseroles, deli meats, fruit baskets, muffin trays, salads, pastries, you name it.

Brady and Tina don't join us in the end. Probably better for me, but I know it hurts Mom. Uncle Peter and Aunt Elaine come over, as well as some other friends and cousins. The alcohol is flowing relatively freely, and if not for the reason we were all together, I would say it was a good night. I sleep in my old room, the one Jenna and I shared. I can't help but be sad. Not about Dad. I mean, I'm sad about him, but in a way, this is closure for the grieving process that started more than four years ago. I'm sad that things aren't the way they used to be when Jenna and I were little. I'm sad about the way our family has disintegrated.

Brady is too self-absorbed and frankly, too much of an asshole, to be a part of our family anymore. He's in Tina's family and apparently the two are mutually exclusive. Jenna is ... who knows? Is she even still alive? I highly doubt so. I know I said those terrible things to her, and while I sort of meant them, I also know that her baby would have changed everything. I wouldn't have been able to stay away. It's how I ended up with my cat. He was a stray who needed a home, and I couldn't resist. I want to have a heart of stone, but I don't.

That leads me to thinking about Max. He didn't come tonight. Helga came, pulling me into her ample bosom yet again. I get to second base with that woman an awful lot. But no Max. She seemed to know that things were over between us. Not that they had even really started. And why? For what stupid reason did I hold Max at arm's length all this time?

Because I was afraid. Afraid to take a chance and fall. Afraid to love and lose. I made a play for Fitzy all those years ago and fell on my face. Literally. I think I loved Rob. I loved our baby, or the idea of our baby, and lost it. I'm sure Rob was right—I'm sure I was distant after. With the whole clarity of hindsight, I know Rob was not the right man for me. I wanted him to be. On paper he was. But in reality, it wasn't there. I guess I can't blame him for moving on.

And my fear of being alone has left me alone.