Page 19 of Miserable Marionette

Gideon stares as I struggle through my math homework, glaring at the pages like algebra will magically make sense. I frown at him over my shoulder. “If you’re just going to sit there and stare, you might as well help me.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, Gideon’s mom pops her head out of the front door of Bell Funeral Home, checking on us for the tenth time in the last few minutes. I frown at her too. Although I doubt she can see it all the way over here. Gideon’s face doesn’t change from his normal intense expression, like he’s always thinking really hard about something; right now I assume that thing is her. It bothers him, too, as much as Gideon gets bothered anyway.

I open my mouth to speak when he cuts me off. “She’s scared of me.”

I roll my eyes at the woman no longer peeking out of the doorway. “Your mom is even weirder than you.”

I can tell that’s not what he wanted to hear as I adjust the blanket he grabbed me earlier to cover my lap. Wishing the back and forth between spring and summer would pass already. The mornings are chilly, afternoons blistering, and nights somewhere in the middle. I sigh, closing my binder. “You’re just different, and different doesn’t mean scary. My Uncle Rodney was different too, and there wasn’t anything scary about him.” I lay my head on Gideon’s strong shoulder, hoping the blonde hair falling into my face will cover my blush. “Uncle Rodney was my best friend ever.”

Gideons’ hands tighten in his lap, his knuckles going white, but he doesn’t speak so I keep going. Hoping I don’t cry. “He killed himself because people couldn’t see past his… differences.”

My heart flutters when Gideon absently rubs his knuckles on my thigh above the cover. “Good, I hope it hurt.”

There’s a brief moment of shock, disbelief, before my head snaps up, my voice a pitch too high. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Gideon. I loved him. I miss him a lot, you know that.” I try not to get mad at him. Gideon says messed up stuff all the time, but that… hurt. I blink past the tears that well in my eyes as his meet mine. Debating if telling him to go home would be more trouble than it’s worth. He’s in one of his moods today. He’s been in his moods a lot lately, more than ever before.

“I want you to miss me,” he says it quietly, his eyes as intense as ever.

My breathing hitches. “You’re right here.”

“I won’t always be. You’ll get your art degree and move away.” His eyes dart back to the front doors of the funeral home he’ll take over one day.

Suddenly, that lump is back in my throat, the idea of losing Gideon making it harder to breathe. “We’ll figure it out! Promise me! Swear right now, Gideon Bell, that we’ll always stay together.”

I freeze as his hand lifts, his warm palm settling against my cheek. Like it alone is warding off the chill in the air. “I promise.”

“No, say you swear it. On everything.”

My heart is pounding so loudly I worry he can hear it. When his thumb makes a gentle swipe across my cheek, his eyes trailing toward my lips, I can feel my face flush all over again, deeper, and lower than before. “I swear it, Audrey Fisher. I’ll never let you out of my sight.”

The sound of Dad’s truck rumbling down the road toward the house has me jerking away. My breath comes in soft pants as I hide behind the curtain of my hair. When I peek out at my best friend, he’s smirking, so I smack his arm, my nervous laughter filling the space between us.

Audrey, Present Day, 1994

The stale coffee doesn’t touch my pounding head as I sulk around the backroom, waiting for Jim Kessler to show up for his appointment. Thankful again that he seems to have just as much trouble showing up on time as I do. Despite the endless anxiety being late brings, the anxiety brewed from just getting ready to show up somewhere is equally as unproductive. I should’ve just gotten dressed, but I wiped down the counters at the house. Then I swept a little. By then, time was ticking away, and I was getting more nervous about being late, but there were things I had to do before I could leave. Do I actually have to do these things? Rarely. I hadn’t even planned to do them. At that moment, they felt more important than anything else.

That and the hangover.

The door jingles as Mrs. Johnson pops through the curtained back room, shoving a bottle of aspirin at me with a little shake of her head. I shoot her a thankful smile, downing two with a Gatorade, praying to whatever god exists that if they just let me feel better, I’ll never drink again.

Jim Kessler’s voice comes only seconds after I finish my drink, followed by another jingle of the door. I don’t poke my head out, calling out from the back instead. “Go ahead and get the new suit on, Jim. I’ll be right out!”

I groan loudly as I shove away from the wall, tuning out the goings on of the small alterations shop. Willing my meager breakfast to stay in place. After a trip to the employee bathroom to pee and check my makeup, I adjust my thigh-length skirt, readying to fight through the day with a pounding headache and swirling stomach.

“Well, if it isn’t the Bell boy!” Mr. Johnson’s voice booms through the shop. My hand tightens, my grip going ironclad, frozen on the curtain I am about to throw open. My heart cramping in my chest like someone reached in and pinched it.

“Mr. Bell works fine, thank you.” The steely voice is quiet, but it hits me center mast, unfreezing my heart and sending it into a frantic gallop. Tears well in my eyes at the sound of it. How can something sound as familiar as home but still so foreign?

Gideon.

“My lord, you’ve grown up! You’re a whole man and a half now,” Mrs. Johnson coos. “Oh, a fine young man you’ve turned out to be as well. It’s been too many years since I’ve seen you in this shop.”

“I’m ready!” Jim shouts, making me flinch.

Oh god, no. No fucking way I’m going out there.

I’m already retreating when Mrs. Johnson throws open the curtains. “Let me grab my pack. I’ll be right with you, Gideon. Second platform from the door.” When her crinkled eyes land on me, there’s a knowing smirk there, but she doesn’t know. She has no idea. I’m already shaking my head rapidly, backpedaling like the front room is on fire.

Might as well be.