“Cremated,” Margot said.
Noah seemed confused, then troubled. “Owen said in our interview that Irene didn’t want to be cremated, and then he cremates her?”
“Doesn’t mean anything,” Margot said.
“Doesn’t it?”
“What does that get him?” Margot said.
“I don’t know,” Goldman said. “But you can’t exhume ashes.”
March 2004
At three forty-five on a Friday afternoon, Casey showed up at Luna’s dorm room with a six-pack of beer. Luna was about to crack open a can when Casey told her to wait fifteen minutes, explaining that it was a bit early. Luna questioned her logic, prompting Casey to ask what logic had to do with any of it. By the time Luna had teased out Casey’s full (and utterly arbitrary, in Luna’s view) position on the matter—one shouldn’t consume alcoholic beverages between the hours of twelve and four p.m.—the fifteen minutes were up. Over the next two hours, Luna and Casey polished off three beers apiece and started on a bottle of bourbon that Luna had stashed in her closet. A conversation about recent movies morphed into a game where one person would describe the plot of a film and the other would try to guess the title.
“A small country goes bankrupt and is in debt to a wealthy woman who installs the next president,” Casey said. “Meanwhile, spies from neighboring countries are trying to stage a coup.”
“The Manchurian Candidate,” Luna said.
Casey appeared stunned for a brief moment and then exploded into laughter. “No,” she said. “Oh my god, that was amazing.”
“What was it?” Luna asked.
“Duck Soup.”
When Mason, Ted, and Owen joined them at around six, the two were plastered. Casey was still laughing so hard about Duck Soup that she couldn’t manage to articulate what was so funny. Mason asked Luna if Casey was stoned, Luna said no, and Casey left the room to pull herself together.
Luna tried to explain Casey’s condition, but since she didn’t fully understand it herself, all she could say was “I think I need to see Duck Soup.” At eight, after four solid hours of drinking and an unknown quantity of weed, Luna kicked everyone out of her room and fell asleep with her clothes on.
A few hours later, she was awakened by an annoying dinging sound that seemed to repeat every few seconds. Luna stumbled out of bed and hunted for the noise. She spotted Owen’s phone on the floor, just under her bed. She thought about calling his dorm to let him know where he’d left it, but she figured Owen already knew and would probably come around sometime the next morning. Luna checked Owen’s text messages, in case he was using someone else’s phone to locate his mobile. That’s when she saw Scarlet’s texts.
Hey.
why won’t u talk 2 me?
What Luna didn’t know was that Owen hadn’t responded to any of Scarlet’s communiqués in the last few months. He’d delete them as soon as they popped on his screen. Luna had always believed it was the unpredictability of Owen’s affection and disdain that unhinged Scarlet. A clear, immutable no could spare her months or years of pain and embarrassment. It took Luna and her drunk fingers five minutes to compose the message.
You have to stop, Scarlet. It’s over.
Luna sent the message without a moment’s hesitation. She thought that would be it. Then there was that annoying ding, along with another message.
someting importan I hav 2 tell you.
As Luna tried to formulate an even stronger sentence conveying utter disinterest, Scarlet sent another message.
Luna has a secret. A secret u wan 2 now.
Every remaining ounce of Luna’s sympathy was gone. She punched out another message.
She told me. Let it go.
Five minutes later, Owen’s phone dinged again.
u don know. If u knew, u wood not lik her
Luna, furious and frantic, replied again.
Stop. Stop. Fucking stop. Get a life.
A moment later, another message came in. Luna replied again, followed by another message.
meet at black budd in 30 min
You’re drunk. Go to bed.
30 min Or I tell
Luna deleted the entire exchange and threw the phone back on the floor. She shut her eyes hard and tried to stanch the flow of tears. Then she stopped fighting and let the tears flow until she was drained.
Luna remembered the joint she’d stowed in her winter coat for emergencies. This was indeed an emergency.
She poured a shot of leftover booze and lit the joint, taking a long, slow drag. It tasted stale, but maybe it would slow down her careening mind. She couldn’t help it. She dug out the cigar box with the letters. It was overwhelming, seeing them all at once. She reminded herself that they had accumulated over seven years.
Over time, some of the letters had diminished in power. The quasi-religious condemnations of her soul no longer packed the same punch as they once did. But when she reread all of them, the impact was like driving full speed into a concrete wall.
Luna didn’t so much fall asleep as tip over onto the floor. When she woke for the second time, it was one a.m. She heard a light tap on the door, whispers outside her room. The memory of the past few hours flooded back, and Luna’s adrenaline kicked in.
She crawled across the floor into her closet. She could wait until campus was silent, pack a bag, and be gone for good. But she had very little money and no safe place to crash.
The knock repeated, and Casey’s comforting voice came through the door.
“Luna, wake up,” said Casey. “You have to come outside and look at the moon.”
Casey liked the moon. Since full moons had more moon than any other, she was partial to those. Also, Casey was determined to document any evidence of full moons altering human behavior. It troubled her greatly that more studies were not done on the subject.