Page 42 of Little Deaths

A strangled sound escaped her lips. “Nothing. I don’t need anything. I just wanted—well, I don’t know what I wanted. Tell Lyra and the twins hello from me.”

“If you visited more often, you could tell them yourself,” her mother said. “Call if you need something. Okay? Early. I go to sleep at eight.”

“Right. Love you.”

“Goodbye, con qu?.”

Goodbye, Mother.

When Donni hung up, she felt emptier and more alone than she had before. She stared at the wall of cola in front of her, aching for something she wasn’t even sure she knew. It just felt as if she had a void in her life sometimes that she spent all of her time moving carefully around.

Anh was ever the pragmatic parent. If she was cold, she didn’t mean to be. She was just practical, calling things for what they were. Even her nickname—raven—had been accorded to her because of how she looked (“and also because you like shiny things,” her mother had added defensively, when she had asked about this, upset). Donni had always been bitterly jealous that Lyra’s nickname was “bunny girl.”

She was pretty sure that she had seen her mother smile and laugh and joke, but that had been a very long time ago, when her father was still alive. After his death, it was as if that more whimsical side of her mother had sloughed away, along with his weary affection.

Now her mother was like this. And thatvoidpinched her every time she breathed.

“Donni?”

She lifted her head to see Poppy standing there looking at her, several feet away on the opposite side of the aisle. The other woman had an expression of concern on her face that seemed almost genuine, but then again, considering who her friends were, maybe not.

“Hey. Sorry if I’m in the way. I was just trying to figure out what to get.”

Poppy nodded, like she believed this lie.Not a very good actress, thought Donni, watching the woman look everywhere but at her as she tried to decide what to say. “I heard you found her,” she said at last. And when Donni stared at her blankly, she added, “Opal.”

“Oh. Oh God. Yes, I did. I’m so sorry, Poppy.”

“Yeah,” she said shakily. “So I guess no more book club. Not that they were that great, anyway. It was mostly Irene and Opal fighting, and everyone always drank too much wine, but oh God. I miss her.” Poppy let out a shaky breath. “Even though she was awful, I miss her.”

“Yes,” Donni said awkwardly. “I understand.”

“Christophe’s hounding the police about returning the body. I guess he wants to do the funeral as soon as possible—to get it over with, you know? But they need to do an autopsy first.” Her voice broke on the last word. “I can’t believe the last time I talked to her was at afuneral.”

That did feel somewhat unlucky. And even though it was also completely irrational, it also felt like it was partly her fault. “I’m sorry,” Donni said again, wishing she was anywhere else. “I can’t believe that someone would do that to Opal.”

“Yeah.” Poppy sniffed. “That reminds me. At the funeral—I saw Opal arguing with a man there. It looked pretty intense, whatever they were talking about. He stormed away afterwards.”

The photographer.“Did you get his name?”

“No. He’s no one I know.” She fiddled with the childseat of her cart. “Do you think I should tell the police? Just before he walked away, I could have sworn I heard him shout, ‘You have no idea what you’re getting into.’ I thought that was a pretty strange thing to shout at a funeral.”

Creepy.She locked her shoulders, refusing to shudder. “Telling the police couldn’t hurt.”

“You’re right. I’ll do that.” Poppy picked up a bag of chips, turning it over in her hands. “Are you coming to the funeral? Opal’s, I mean.”

Donni sighed. “Probably not. I’m afraid my new state of infamy might detract attention from the service.”

Poppy nodded but didn’t look surprised. It seemed she’d been thinking the same thing and had been hoping Donni would say it first. “It’s a shame about your husband. It was awful, what he did. Awful and shameful. But I’m sure it must feel terrible, being alone.”

Donni said nothing, but that shard of emotion had inserted itself back into her throat. This time, she could have sworn she tasted blood.

“Anyway.” Poppy shook herself. “I just wanted to say hello. Take care of yourself, Donni.”

“You, too,” Donni croaked, watching her go. Poised and determined to get on with her life, to go back to her career and her husband and the normalcy of the every day. For her, the shadow of death was nothing more than a waning crescent of darkness.

She drove home with fifteen bags of groceries she didn’t really need and probably couldn’t afford, but once she started putting things in her cart, it was like she couldn’t stop. When she pulled up to her house, she found the driveway blocked, however. A shiny Prius was parked there, and leaning against the front of the door, arms folded, was Rafe.

After the way Rafe had reacted to the kiss, part of her had perversely hoped that he would go away and never come back. But the relief that gilded her fear when she parked the car in the pullout instead and he loped down the walkway to meet her felt like a betrayal of this, and filled her with shame. “What are you doing here?”

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