Page 39 of Dead Love
Bernie and Ulyssesled the way, with Sarah trotting beside our guest. Kora wrapped her arms around herself, looking up at the bright moon. Shadows hovered over each memorial statue, the bouquets stirring in the breeze.
“You know the garden,” I said as we approached the edge of the cemetery. The garden, filled with the leftover potted plants that the grieving families didn’t want, was a wash of white petals that glowed in the dark, lighting a clear path to the funeral home in the night. Kora sucked in a breath, her nostrils flaring, enjoying the scent. I didn’t care for it much; it reminded me of work. But the smell that sometimes came from her skin was different: jasmine and her sweet sweat. For some reason,herfloral hint never bothered me.
In another corner of the property, we came to the mausoleums. We went through the arches, reaching the squares that were decorated with flowers. I sat on the bench against the wall as Kora ran her fingertips over the names. Punica was a small town, but it had been around for a long time, which meant an extensive history of people who had been born, had lived, and died here.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. She sat beside me, pulling on the sleeves of her hoodie until they covered her hands. “You take good care of it.”
I tried my best. Death care might not have been what I thought I would do with my life, but it was my life. Eventually, I got the words out: “Thank you.”
“No,” she said. “We,” she nodded to the memorial plaques to the sides of her, the moonlight silhouetting her face, “wethank you.”
Kora petted the dogs for a while, and Bernie brought her a stick to play fetch. We went to the open grass next to the cemetery—an area that was ready to use once the rest of the plots were filled. Kora played with the dogs with joy on her face, stopping to pet Sarah at every chance, laughing when Bernie stole the stick from Ulysses and the brothers started brawling. I remembered her father’s comment; Kora had probably never played with a pet before. She smiled at them, bright and playful. It was a smile that seemed to come from within. I had seen her lips take that shape before, but never as naturally, never asat ease,as she was right then.
When the morning light stretched over the horizon, I took Kora back inside, bringing her to the basement with a cup of tea, a bagel, and a small bowl of yogurt.
“You should get some rest,” I said.
“I’ll try,” she said.
And for once, neither of us had a smart remark to say.
* * *
By the timeI was finished with my breakfast, a knock rapped through my door. I must have been Catie. At least she had knocked this time. I opened the door.
“Mr. Erickson,” Shea said. She stood on the front porch with her fingers itching at the fabric on her chest. “I’m sorry to bother you this early, but I was hoping you could help me.”
A jolt of adrenaline surged through me. Her polite attitude was overwhelming. She had no idea that her daughter was right there, underneath her. I grit my teeth, then soothed my nerves. I had not predicted that she would come to see me like this, but that was the beauty of destruction. Nothing could ever be predicted.
“What can I do for you?” I asked.
“I hope this isn’t rude,” she said. “I heard a long time ago that you lived on the property, and I…” She looked at her feet, unsure of what to say next.
“It’s fine,” I said.Just get on with it.
“You called the other day,” she started again, “And I didn’t think anything of it at first. But then I remembered—in those last days before she disappeared, we saw you, remember? In the flower field. Wild Berry Trailhead. On Mount Punica? We were all there, hunting for the Middlemist Red.”
That day had played through my mind many, many times. “I remember.”
“Did she tell you anything then?” she asked. “Did she say anything? Anything at all?” My chest expanded and I wet my lips. Since I had started watching her family, I had never seen Shea let a flicker of negative emotions cross her face when someone could see her. But now, she was falling apart, more with each passing day. It was fascinating.
“We didn’t talk much,” I said.
“But you have to knowsomething,” she stammered. My head buzzed with pleasure. Another crack in the facade. “Please, Mr. Erickson. Is there anything at all?”
I flexed my fingers straight, one by one. I imagined Shea’s face when she saw the closed casket, how she’d throw herself over the wood, her sobs reverberating through the room.
But for now, I could point something out to her. It would make the ending sweeter.
“They found Echo at your house,” I said. “Right?”
“They did.”
“Is it possible that her friend brought it over?”
“What friend?”
“Nyla Nerissa. The one who died?”
