Leo swung open the door and said, “You’re three hours late.”
Leo was wearing his work uniform. Boxer shorts and a moth-eaten T-shirt. A long silk robe pulled the outfit together. Luna wasn’t sure if he wore the robe all the time or when he was expecting company.
“Leo, I’m sorry. It was unavoidable,” Luna said.
“Wasn’t expecting Owen,” Leo said, studying Owen’s bizarre ensemble.
“Can we come in?” Luna said.
The trio entered the house. Luna sat Leo down on the couch while Owen disappeared into the kitchen and returned with three glasses and a bottle of Wild Turkey.
“What’s going on?” Leo said in a bracing tone.
Owen refrained from responding, reminded himself that he had to behave the way a man in mourning behaves, although he struggled with the notion that one must impose outside rules of performance on personal conduct. Like the last time, he thought. Grief would be so much easier if you didn’t have to spend your time worrying about whether you were doing it right. Owen sat down on the couch and poured the bourbon.
“Something happened,” Luna said.
“What is it?” Leo asked. “You’re scaring me.”
There was a dramatic tension in the air, which Leo enjoyed. Life in the last few years had become dull. Owen slid a glass in front of Leo. Luna was waiting for Owen to break the news, while Owen thought Luna would do it. Owen finished his drink and poured another. He cleared his throat impatiently.
“You want me to do it?” Luna said.
“I just thought you were going to,” Owen said.
“No. This is something you have to do,” Luna said.
As Owen tried to find the right words, words that might soften the blow, Leo exploded.
“For fuck’s sake!” Leo said.
“Irene is dead,” Owen said quickly and flatly to get it over with.
Leo took a quick breath, like a gasp. “What? When?”
“Her body was found this morning. I think she died yesterday,” Owen said.
“Her body? Where was she?” Leo asked. His questions were logical and reasonable, but there was aggression in his tone.
“She went for a run at the cemetery yesterday. She was shot. I found her…this morning when I went for a jog,” Luna said.
“Where is she now?” Leo asked.
“At the morgue,” Luna said.
Leo covered his face and began to sob. Luna was surprised Leo could cry so freely. She only knew Irene’s version of her relationship with Leo. Sure, Leo was technically Irene’s stepfather for a few years, but Irene’s picture of their relationship was icy, at best.
Owen poured another drink.
“Slow down,” Luna said to Owen.
“Back off,” Owen said.
“Who on earth would kill Irene?” Leo asked.
“I don’t know,” Luna said.
“Did she say anything?” Leo asked.
Luna and Owen exchanged a look. Leo was in his late sixties. His health had been deteriorating recently. Perhaps he was developing dementia of some kind.
“Leo, Irene is dead,” Luna said. “She died…yesterday, I think.”
“I know that,” Leo said. “I just wondered if she’d said anything before, about…oh, I don’t know…someone giving her trouble.”
“No,” Owen said. “Why do you ask?”
Luna’s phone buzzed in her pocket. Sam, she remembered. She had to contend with Sam.
“I have to go home,” Luna said.
“Me too,” said Owen.
“Please don’t leave,” Leo said. “I can’t be alone right now.”
Luna and Owen shared a silent exchange. Neither wanted to deal with Leo, but it was better to keep an eye on him than leave him to his own devices.
“If you get dressed, you can come with me,” said Owen.
* * *
—
Luna pulled her car in front of Owen’s driveway. Leo stumbled out of the vehicle and shuffled up the walk.
“Don’t be long,” Owen said. “I can’t—”
“I know,” Luna said.
As Owen walked up to his front door, Luna spotted a bouquet of white lilies sitting on the porch. It unnerved her that the news was already out. She thought perhaps they’d have a little more time before the neighbors would begin to converge with their casseroles and condolences.
Luna drove straight home, which took all of two minutes. As she stepped out of her car, the weight of the morning set in. Her whole body ached as if she’d aged a decade. She felt like she could sleep for days. Sam was sitting in the kitchen in his scrubs, waiting for her, poised for a fight.
“Let me explain marriage to you,” Sam said.
“Wait—” Luna said.
“You don’t get to disappear for six hours—”
“Please stop—”
“We’re not Owen and Irene,” Sam said. “If they want to vanish on each other, that’s their business. I won’t live like that.”
“Irene is dead,” Luna said. “I found her body when I went for a run and spent the morning at the police station, being questioned.”
Sam flinched briefly. Then he tilted his head and squinted, as if he misunderstood.
“What did you say?” Sam asked.
“Irene is dead,” Luna repeated. “She was shot while jogging in Dover Cemetery.”
“Shot? Who shot her?”
“They don’t know.”
“They? Who is they?”
“The police,” said Luna.
“Why didn’t you call?” Sam said.
“I was being interrogated,” Luna said. “I’m sorry. I got here as soon as I could.”
Sam stared at his feet. His eyes turned glassy. That was about as much emotion as you could get out of him, Luna had learned early in their relationship.
“I think I need to go to bed for a few minutes,” Luna said.
Exhaustion came over her suddenly. She could barely stand on two feet. Sam nodded. Luna climbed the stairs to the bedroom, closed the blinds, kicked off her shoes, and crawled under the covers with her clothes on.
* * *
—