“Yeah, thank goodness.” After a quick scan, she was reassured nothing was missing. “You ready?”
“Yep.”
And just like that, they fled the Crisp and Gross Funeral Home for the dark sanctuary of the bar. A bar. Any bar.
Five
“… and then Grandpa Pat literally threw the guy off the porch. Grabbed him and hoisted him and heaved and the guy went flying and kicked up a bunch of dust when he landed.”
“Probably should have taken Pat seriously when he said ‘no comment.’”
“Right? Like trying to set the guy’s rental car on fire wasn’t enough of a hint? Anyway, that was the height of the media mess.”
“Nightmare.”
“Yeah. But it didn’t get any worse, and after that there were fewer reporters, and then one day, we got up and saw they’d all left.”
“Like the swallows on their way to Capistrano.”
Dennis snorted. “Sure. Exactly like that.”
They were imbibing in the Tamarack Tap Room, because Ava could get behind a place with the motto “Beer, Burgers, Bourbon.” Dennis was sucking down a liquid that was so dense and black, it looked like something he had to drink because he lost a bet; Ava was content with rye and ginger.
“Hard to believe it’s been ten years.”
“Agreed,” Ava replied. “Depending on the day I’m having, it either seems like too long a time or not enough time. And I can’t imagine—I mean, this had to have been hard for you.”
“It wasn’t a boatload of chuckles for you, either.”
“Yeah, but you lost a twin.” She shook her head. “Can’t imagine. You know I’m an only.”
“I know that’s why you hung out at our place all the time,” he teased. “You were literally the only person in town who envied Ava for having too many weirdo relatives.”
“I think ‘weirdo’ was unnecessary.”
“Hell, for a time people thought you and Danielle were twins. Remember when you both got the same haircut and matching dark dye jobs?”
“Argh, don’t remind me. It took so long to grow out.” As soon as the words were out, she could have bitten her tongue. Because Danielle’s never had a chance to grow out. And the reminder of how desperately Ava was looking for an identity back then made her cringe. Hell, they’d even dressed alike more than once.
“Aw, c’mon.” Dennis nudged her, doubtless picking up on her mood. “It was cute. We all thought so. Even the nursing home you guys volunteered at—remember?”
“Vaguely,” she lied. She remembered everything: Ava volunteering at Shady Oaks—which provided neither shade nor oaks—and quickly realizing it wasn’t going to be what she thought. She’d been picturing grandparental figures, loving proxies. Instead, the residents were real people, and weren’t there to fulfill Ava’s fantasies of living in a big extended family. The third time she’d had to wipe shit off Mr. Wilkin’s ass, she’d decided enough was enough and told her folks she was quitting.
Which led to the “you took on this responsibility and will see it through” lecture, hilarious given how often her parents shirked their own responsibilities. Oblivious to the irony, her mom and dad had then left for their semiannual trip to Vegas.
After crying (and ranting) on Danielle’s shoulder, her friend suggested they take turns being Volunteer Aide Ava. It was such a silly, sitcomesque idea, so of course Ava was all over it. So while Volunteer Aide Ava was on the schedule three afternoons a week, the actual Ava only went once or twice, while Danielle picked up her other shift. The work was still gross and grueling, but knowing they were “gaming the system” made it interesting.
Ava shrugged off the memories, started to ask something, then cut herself off.
“What?”
“No, it’s—okay, well, I’m sure you got asked this all the time, but—was there anything that last day? Anything at all?”
“No, Ava. Trust me. I’ve been asking myself that for a decade. If anything, you spent more time with her that day than I did.”
It was true—she and Danielle had spent most of the day together, divvying up the Volunteer Ava shifts for the next two weeks and gorging on pizza. Ava had finally left to pick up her parents at the airport. And sometime in the four hours that followed, Danielle was butchered like a veal calf in her own bedroom.
Dennis had been out of town for twenty-four hours—an overnight kegger followed by a day trip to the U of M. By the time he got back, it was all over, and not just for Danielle.
“Senseless crime, fuck,” Dennis said, startling her with the abrupt comment. “Hate that phrase the most, I think.” He was staring into the dregs of his black drink. “The reporters loved that one and it’s so stupid. Who’d stand over a stranger’s mutilated corpse and say, ‘This crime makes perfect sense.’ Obviously it’s senseless. Christ.” Dennis, finished with his third black drink, looked around for their waitress.
“Maybe you want to take a break from the tar?” she asked, smiling so he wouldn’t think she was taking his inventory.
“You mean switch to bourbon?”
“Uh…”
Half an hour later, Ava was helping Dennis out to the parking lot, if “helping” meant “staggering under his weight.”
“Ggggggnnnnn work with me, Dennis! We might be the same height, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got at least twenty pounds on me.”
“Haven’t lost my winter weight,” he slurred, which made her laugh, which made her lose her grip, which meant Dennis’s ass was about to meet pavement.
“Captain Capp?” Suddenly most of Dennis’s weight was gone. “May I be of some assistance?”
“Some,” Dennis mumbled to … someone. “But don’ go overboard. With the … uh … the assist-tancing. Assisting. We could use a little. Of the assistancing. But not too much.”
The man who had come to her assistancing—wait, now she was doing it, and she wasn’t even drunk—was over six feet tall, with the broad shoulders and overall musculature of a regular lifter. His eyes were deep brown (probably—it wasn’t a well-lit parking lot) and his nose was a blade; he was clean-shaven and unabashedly bald, with broad wrists
(Why am I noticing his wrists?)
and casually dressed in tan slacks and a navy-blue dress shirt. His voice was a deep rumble, almost a baritone, as he quietly answered Dennis’s questions.
“You’re super tall. And big. Are you a skyscraper sometimes?”
“I am not.”
“Well, you should drink about it. Think about it. Is what I meant. Not drink. D’you want to get a drink and tell me how you became a skyscraper?”
“No, thank you.”
“Thanks a lot,” she told the mystery hunk after he’d manhandled Dennis into the car with about as much trouble as she’d have with a sack of groceries. “We’ve had a long day.”
“Not as long as Danielle’s!” Dennis shouted from the back seat. “That day, I mean. Her last day. Not today. Ava, is this a rental car? Cuz I might have to throw up in it. So much. Not right this second. Prob’ly later. Just so you’re apprised of, y’know. The situation.”