Page 90 of Every Sweet Thing Is Bitter

Sara relents by lifting both hands like a criminal apprehended at the end of a manhunt. She drops the lighter in my lap. The metal, still hot from the intermittent flames, scorches the moth tattoo on my thigh. “If you’re only planning to ‘reason with him,’ ” she says, sharpening the words with air quotes, “then why are we talking about your will?”

“Because I think he’s going to shoot me when he sees me. He said that’s what he’d do if he saw me again, and he said if I talked to Grace, he’d shoot us both.” I exhale an unsteady breath. “And my gun is gone.”

“Gone?Did it grow legs and catch a bus to Denver?”

“The less you know about the gun, the better.”

She shakes her head. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“As fucked as you think this is, multiply it by a thousand.”

“And Grace is a minor, so you can’t just run off with her like a thief in the night.”

“That’s kidnapping, and I’d get twenty years, easy.” The first drag of my cigarette calms my racing heart. I wish I could find this comfort elsewhere, preferably in a way that isn’t going to give me cancer untold years down the line, but nothing ever comes close. Simple pleasures. I’ve relied on them to keep me going for a long time.

“When’s her birthday? Maybe you wait it out.”

“January.”

Sara lights her cigarette with the cherry of my own. “When I said you were selfish, I wasn’t asking you to die for someone to prove me wrong.”

I don’t want to die either, but I’m also not scared of it. I have too many bruises and badly healed broken bones to be scared of death. “If I leave her with him, then I’m just as much a monster as he is, and Harmony … she has never asked me for anything, but she’s asking me for this.”

“You’re not obligated to fulfill Harmony’s last wishes because you’re sisters, same way she’s not obligated to forgive you or love you.”

“I can’t tell you why, but I owe this to Harmony.”

We finish our cigarettes in silence and watch the dogs bounce around the yard, connected at the hips to form a multiheaded beast, like a Hydra from Greek mythology. They separate to drink water and catch their breaths. Julius and Augustus flop down on the porch while Zenobia lies down at our feet, her head on a swivel to monitor the perimeter.

“If something does happen to me,” I begin, “will you please be there for Grace? I know legally you can’t do anything, but I want there to be a safe person for her to go to if she needs it. And—and you’re the only one in my will, but I want you to give some money to Grace. I don’t have much. Tattoo artists don’t get life insurance.” I smile, but the levity does nothing for Sara. “She mentioned she wanted to go to the community college in Scottsbluff. Maybe enough money to help her with that.”

“Please don’t die on me.”

“Just in case, Sara. Please. Promise me.”

She closes her eyes and chews on the words. “I promise.”

Before I can impose another demand upon her, she marches into the trailer. One by one, citronella candles appear in the open windows. I practice an apology in my head. I refuse to end this conversation on anything but good terms, because if I do die, I don’t want my best friend’s final memory of me to be a bitter one.

She reappears a minute later and presses a cool, slender object into my palm. As my thumb passes over the telltale button on its handle, she tells me what it is. “My switchblade.”

“What would Daniel say?”

Sara holds her arms across her chest. “Nothing. They’re legal for felons to carry in South Dakota.”

“Is this your blessing?”

“Clearly I can’t talk you out of this,” she says, “so it’s me making sure you have a snowball’s chance in hell at fighting back.”

I hit the button. The blade jumps out. Sunlight glints along the polished metal.

CHAPTER

27

August 24th

11:11AM

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