Page 44 of The Reluctant Reaper
“Remember when you ‘accidentally’ burned all the sheet music for ‘High School Confidential’?”
“Jerry Lee Lewis raped and married his thirteen-year-old cousin. And possibly killed his fifth wife.”
“Still a bangin’ song, though.”
“Oh my God.”
“Look here, brat: If you don’t wanna listen to problematic?—”
“Problematic?” Wait. Was this the way it was supposed to go? Did people argue with her father? Did they talk about problematic pop stars with Death?
Seemed unlikely.
“—music, you better go through your playlists with a fine fuckin’ comb. Betcha half the assholes in your phone did somethin’ terrible. Ozzy Osbourne? Tried to kill his wife. Jim Morrison? Indecent exposure. Axl Rose? Assault. Elvis? Where do I fuckin’ start? James Brown? Same problem.”
Amara rubbed her temples. “We’re getting off course.”
“Naw. I was pissed when you set all that stuff on fire, but I always admired your guts. S’why I’m glad to see you now. I did my fuckin’ job for thirty-eight years. Now you do yours.”
ChapterTwenty-Two
“Okay. I’m done not throwing up.”
“You sure? I’m in no rush. Take all the time you need to not barf.”
Amara rested her head on Gray’s shoulder. As they left Trinity, he’d glanced at his phone (ever the enthusiastic intern, Gray had put all the, um, clients’ addresses into his GPS), then took the wheel while she clutched the garbage can that was her new best friend and struggled with the nightmare that was this long longlongweekend.
Gray pulled into the lot for Roosevelt Park, empty save for a few maniac snowshoers, cross-country skiers, and ride-or-die zoo visitors, and she perked up a bit as he parked, came around, opened her door, and helped her out.
“Awwww. All chivalry, all the time.”
He took her hand and steered her toward the nearest bench, where they sat in heavy-yet-companionable silence. She could see camels and bears and the tiger, and the flash of red in her periphery was a fox.
After a bit, Amara ventured, “I used to come here all the time as a kid.”
“I knew it. You were a closet pickleball fan even then.”
“God, no. I’d check out the sloth and the reticulated giraffe, my mother would utilize the trails, and my father would fish off the docks.”
“How normal.”
“We had our moments.”
“More than I had, y’know.” Gray gave her an affectionate nudge. “My mom never took me to a park, but if she ever did, it would only be to ditch me. Not that it’s a contest. But if it was a contest, which it isn’t, I’d win. Handily.”
“What’s your prize, then?”
“Therapy.”
She snorted. “Actually, this place was more like Apology Park, no offense to Teddy R. Whenever they screwed up or felt bad for me when someone else screwed up or I was having a bad day, they’d bring me here. Rain or shine. January or July. Like the time Death brought me here to cheer me up after Take Your Daughter to Work Day.”
“Ohhhhh boy.”
“Do I really scream in my sleep?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Pause. “Do I say anything?”
