Page 40 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
I snorted, imagining how much Liv must be driving her crazy, and mildly impressed Ellis had stuck around. I guess Liv had meant it when she said she wasn’t going anywhere, and Ellis clearly didn’t love the idea of being haunted for the rest of her life.
Dove Marley [11:12 p.m.]
Try telling her you voted Republican. Might scare her off.
I grinned at my own little joke, feeling rather pleased with myself. The typing bubbles reappeared for only a second... then vanished.
Shrugging, I set the phone aside, shimmied back beneath the blanket, and flicked off the lamp. My eyes drifted to the empty duffel bag on the chair by the mirror. It still needed packing... but I was suddenly warm, comfortable, and just tiredenough. I’d wake up early and throw in whatever I needed.
Truthfully, as annoyed as Ellis seemed about this road trip... I was a little excited.
The circumstances were definitely unconventional—if not completely weird—and, like Ellis had said, possibly the result of an undiagnosed brain tumor. But still.
The idea of just getting away for a while?
Yeah. That sounded kind of perfect.
Sure, it was a little reckless, given I had only just started running the shop, but Ida seemed confident, and Margaret had always told me to have experiences.
I mean, Ellis and her ghost had fallen into my lap like fate, and I wasneverone to ignore fate.
I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea how it would go. And yes, I didn’t really have a choice, not after Liv’s threat earlier. Margaret had only just died. Was driving across the country to the West Coast the smartest choice right now?
Holy shit.
I gasped and sat upright as my chest tightened.
The ashes.
The West Coast.
Los Angeles.
The Pacific.
“Don’t ever let me be buried in wet soil or locked up in some glass bowl, Dove!”Margaret had told me many times, her eyes fierce.“I want to be shot from fireworks into the sea like a goddamn Viking, you got it?”
And yet... there she was. Sitting in a cabinet in Uncle Bill’s suburban mausoleum, sealed inside a porcelain bowl next to a man she hadn’t spoken to in twenty years. A man who had made her life a living hell while she was with him.
I clutched the blankets to my chest, my eyes burning with tears.
No. It wasn’t right.
And I had a chance to fix it.
She deserved better than a cabinet. She deserved the world.
I would damn well give it to her.
The morning airnipped at my exposed skin in that annoying, crisp, impending October kind of way, promising a cold fall, but not quite ready to commit. It was early. Too early for any of the shops on the strip to be open yet. Aside from the occasionalcasual runner, I stood alone outsideMargaret’s Mystique, bouncing on the balls of my feet.
Tugging at the sleeves of my oversized sweater, I soaked in the warmth and softness that came from too many wears and washes. I’d slipped on a pair of black leggings—because who the hell would wear jeans on a road trip—and had hooked a pair of sunglasses from the collar of my sweater, knowing the sun would be much brighter soon.
I had, once again, twisted my hair into the laziest space buns I’d ever managed, and a few strands had already broken free, whipping around gently whenever the breeze hit me. I didn’t have the energy to fix it.
My duffel bag sat beside my sneaker-clad feet, overstuffed and probably still missing essentials. I’d thrown it together in a sleep-deprived fog at five thirty that morning, half convinced I’d wake up and find this whole thing—Liv, Ellis, the road trip—had been a dream.
But no. It was real.
