Page 35 of Truth, Lies, and Second Dates
Sure it is.
“What’s grisly about, I dunno, slipping someone forty Ambien in their milkshake? They’ll just doze off and peacefully die and, oh my God, I can’t believe we’re actually arguing about this. Your grisly murder will be ultragrisly, get it? Grisly in spades. It’s gonna look like the killer redecorated in your bodily fluids.”
WRONG.
“Your poor mother will lose her goddamned mind.”
Sure, but will anyone notice?
“Ouch.”
Too many variables. That’s going to be the problem. Not the murder.
“Also, you’ll be dead, and my folks will die, and I’ll get hooked on prescription sleeping pills and fly away and—wait, what? Variables?”
Too many variables, which is why it’s going to beWRONG.
“Danielle—”
You’re the only one who calls me that. Everyone else sticks with Dani. Even though they know I hate it. Maybe because they know I hate it. I was always part of a crowd, but it didn’t save me. Itdidsave you, though. So that’s something.
“What are you talking about? What are you trying to say? Dammit, I hate cryptic bullshit!”
Wrong.
“I don’t—”
Wrong.
“Danielle—”
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong-wrong-wrong-wrong-
Nineteen
“Jesus!”
She was sitting up and the strange room smelled wrong and the comforter felt wrong and the light looked wrong and it was too chilly and the blanket was too thin and where the fucking fuck was she?
Shivering, Ava took in the subtle-to-the-point-of-bland décor, the anonymously pleasing print on the wall, her carry-on propped in the far corner, the channel list and room service menu and four of her nineteen lip balms on the bedside table.
Right. The Hyatt. Nestled in the hell on earth that was Bloomington, Minnesota. It wasn’t ten years ago, it was now. Danielle had been dead ten years; the memorial was yesterday. The ME was a broad-shouldered odd duck who had wonderful dark eyes, a genius niece, a yellow lab, and a maybe-friend named Abe, and Danielle had known something was going to happen.
She knew. And you blew it off as teen angst.
Ava swung her legs around until her feet were on the floorbut didn’t trust herself to stand just yet. Danielle’s face on that last day haunted her, simultaneously knowing and bored.
But not afraid.
Resigned.
She dug her fingers into the furrows of her forehead and bent at the waist.You’re reading into it, she thought, staring at the dark blue carpet. The conversation didn’t go like that. You came over to hang out and scarf pizza and figure out the schedule and when the pizza was gone, you were, too.
No… that wasn’t exactly… wait, was it?
You’re trying to feel useful because, back then, you weren’t useful to anyone. So your subconscious served up version 2.0 of that last talk to trick you into thinking you know something that you don’t.
That’s all.
