He’ll say “how are you,” I’ll say “fine,” and we’ll be done with conversation for the year.
Eli flicks out his arm, pulls me closer to the casket and him, lifts me off the floor and hugs the air out of me. “How did you know? What about school? Does Meg know you’re here?”
Wow. A lot of questions in a short timespan. He kisses the side of my head and shakes me from side to side like a rag doll. My leg bumps into the side of the coffin and I swallow a dry heave. “Um. Dad, it’s over and duh.”
“What?” he asks, still hugging and shaking me.
I pat his shoulder and my nonverbal put-me-down works. The moment my feet hit the ground, his hands go to my shoulders as if the only way to confirm I’m here is by physical contact.
“You sent Dad the obituary, school’s done and I wouldn’t go anywhere without telling Mom.”
“You have no idea how much this means to me,” he says. His head jerks back and he squints. “Did you say obituary?”
“It means a lot to me, too,” says a woman’s voice to my side.
I scream. And scream again. And it doesn’t stop. I can’t make it stop. It’s one long, agonizing scream, and I’m tripping over myself to get away. It’s not just hysterics. It’s my mind ripping in two. Into pieces. Multiple pieces. It’s my worst nightmare.
The dead woman. She’s sitting up and blinking and the scream stops for a moment as my body forces in air and the next sound is a sob. I must have hit a wall, because I can’t go back any farther and I need to get back. I need to get away and run. Run as far as I can.
But I can’t move to the side, either. I’m trapped! Now it’s getting out of the coffin. One leg after another. It’s climbing out and moving in my direction. Hands out. Head swaying from side to side and it’s saying something, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want it to touch me.
“No!” It’s the first word I can articulate, but it’s hoarse and slurred through the sobs.
“It’s okay.” It’s Eli. He’s behind me and I realize I’m not against a wall. Eli’s arms have locked me against him. “She’s not dead, Emily. She’s not dead. Stay back, Mom.”
Two feet from me, it halts its advance. The arms slowly drop to its sides. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”
I’m struggling, though I didn’t know it until now. A monster wouldn’t sound so nice and feminine. I press back against Eli, not trusting what I’m seeing. His arms hold me—a reassuring hug to confirm he’s on my side. It glances behind me to Eli.
“Emily,” says Eli, “this is your grandmother, Olivia. Mom, this is Emily.”
I suck up the snot in my nose, but I can’t end the tears. They’ll keep coming until I can understand that my mind is still intact. She smiles and it reminds me of Eli’s smile, but hers is a little hesitant. “Let’s take this somewhere a little more private.”
I clutch Eli’s hand and a blast of heat races along my body. She stares at me. I stare at her and as I attempt to respond, dizziness disorients me, and warmth rushes from my toes to my head. My mouth opens and the pathetic breakfast I ate on the plane lands squarely on Olivia’s shoes.
Oz
“EMILY FREAKING OUT—that was some funny shit.” Chevy bites into the mammoth ham sandwich he created from the meat tray Mom prepared for the party. Except for me and Chevy, the kitchen area of the funeral home is empty. We sit at the table while everyone else attempts to decipher what the hell is going on.
Only a handful of us know why Eli’s posted guards outside and inside every entrance and is allowing no access in or out. The funeral home is on disaster-area shutdown and if it wasn’t for Cyrus telling me to follow the long-lost daughter, I wouldn’t have had a clue that Emily has returned to Snowflake.
Eli’s real secretive about Emily and this surprise visit must be his worst nightmare, especially with the shit going down with the Riot. The next few hours ought to be interesting.
“Ahhh!” Two young kids race through the kitchen with their hands raised in the air. “Dead person. Dead person.”
Chevy laughs, then chokes on the sandwich, coughing into his elbow. Now that’s some funny shit.
While I should be concerned he’s choking to death, I’m more worried about the dark shadows under his eyes. The kid was up early running routes with his coach before the wake. Football and motorcycles are the boy’s life. Chevy’s an all-American boy with his dark brown hair, brown eyes and love of apple pie and football. That is, if Yankee Doodle went to town riding on a Harley.
I slap his back much harder than needed and he nearly spits out the sandwich. Chevy drinks from a longneck he swiped from a cooler. “Guess Emily thought Olivia was dead.”