“I’m already wearing two layers. Just help me with the zipper.”
Gran gave a halfhearted tug on the zipper. It didn’t budge. “You can wear one of my dresses.”
One of the beaded monstrosities from the seventies? Wasn’t this funeral going to be bad enough?
Outside, a horn blared.
“Don’t leave without us!” Edna shouted.
I groaned as she hurried out the door.
I didn’t have money to call a taxi. Though I didn’t want to roll up at my husband’s funeral in the senior bus, it was better than spending money I didn’t have.
“Go up,” I hissed, jumping up and down. The zipper inched up.
There was loud knocking on the front door. Gran must have locked herself out again.
“Coming! Can you just take down the cupcakes?” I yelled, running to the door in my stocking feet. “Oh!”
Marius drew back when he saw me standing there my dress half on.
“Emmie.” He turned around abruptly.
The awkwardness hung in the air as I banged my elbow, trying to close the door. “I thought you’d already be there to get a good seat.”
“Unlike the other residents of this building, I’m not particularly excited to attend the funeral.”
I could hear the wry smile in the words.
“Really? Because you sound happy,” I grumbled from the other side of the door, “or is that because you get to stand there in your suit and be superior?”
“Would you like some help?” he offered.
“Just tell the bus to wait for me.”
“It’s already left.”
I raced to the window to see the bus driving off.
“Dammit.” When I turned around, Marius was there.
“I’ll give you a ride,” he offered, motioning for me to turn.
My face hot for some reason—it was always so hot in the senior center—I turned my back to him. His fingers barely brushed my skin as he held the fabric together then tugged up the zipper.
I smoothed down the front of my dress and slipped on my heels.
Marius was already standing at the door, holding the dessert carrier and the casserole.
“Just a tip from your lawyer”—he bent down to murmur in my ear, making me shiver—“you might want to at least pretend to be sad.”
Even though Brookshad been a cheating asshole, I wasn’t going to show up to his funeral empty-handed. That was just not how I was raised.
I held the umbrella, sleet pattering the fabric, as Marius and I darted up to the house.
My house.
Where the funeral was being held.
