Page 60 of Miserable Marionette

She cuts herself off again, stopping her adorable rant. Even if the content of it makes me feel a little… agitated. She shouldn’t want to comfort anyone but me. Not that I’m often in need of comfort. For a second, I debate faking a breakdown, telling her being back here alone is affecting me, and I can’t do it without her by my side every waking moment of every single hour.

She’d see right through it though, of course. My girl knows me.

“Why don’t I make a call to the florist? I can have them deliver something to the funeral home from you,” I offer. It’s reasonable; it keeps her close.

I can tell immediately she doesn’t like it.

Stubborn, puppet.

“That’s so impersonal. I mean, I practically lived with them for a year. No, I need to do this myself, to take it over there. I already made cookies… well, they’re Mrs. Johnson's cookies, but I’m giving them the rest. Sorry about that, by the way.”

I take a deep breath, like Dad taught me. It does little to help the urge to drag her down the stairs and chain her to the table so I can work on her dead boyfriend in peace. “I won’t be able to step away for a while, but you can take my car.”

Her head pops up at that, rushing forward to give me a hug before her eyes widen on my apron again and she stops abruptly. Clasping her hands together at her chest instead. “Thank you so much! I promise I won’t be long.” Just like that, my eyes are glued to her back as she bounds out the door, snagging my keys from the hook inside the office.

I stand there in stunned silence, the orange cat running past me down the stairs. My heart thundering.

Audrey was going to hug me.

The loss of it feels… monumental.

My head is buzzing as I head back down the stairs, not bothering to let the double doors close gently behind me as I reenter the embalming room. No, I let them bang shut, sending the cat skittering back up the steps as I walk to the table, staring at the painted quarterback on it seconds before my fist slams into his face.

29

Broken Glass

Audrey, Present Day, 1994

I second-guess myself at least fifteen times between pulling out of the circular drive at Bell Funeral Home and into the long one at the Jordans’ house. Because three wrongs don’t make a right. Bryan could’ve been a horrible boyfriend, Jess perhaps an even worse friend, but my icing out a woman who’s always been nothing but welcoming and kind to me serves no one. It’s the right thing to do. My nerves feel raw, and my heart untethered as I grab the small arrangement from the passenger seat, cringing when I see the baby’s breath had flaked off onto the leather a bit.

The card is signed Audrey with the preprinted “Deepest Sympathy” note stabbed deep into the small glass vase. For a moment, I debated ripping it out and leaving it on the porch, driving off before anyone could realize I was here. I told Gideon I’d hurry back; lord knows he’s got so much to do today. I’d even resigned to offer my help when I got back… far away from the basement, but—

I almost hugged him.

It had felt so natural that I hadn’t spared it a second thought. Like muscle memory, to toss myself into his arms and snuggle deep. My mind had run a million miles a minute all night, not even the heavy rain on the window lulling me to sleep. I steel myself, resuming my paced walk to the front door when a voice cuts through the otherwise quiet fall afternoon.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

I halt so fast I nearly roll my ankle as I hit a pothole in the gravel. “Jess…” I take a deep breath, heading toward where she leans against the side of the house. The sight of her, crumbled in front of the funeral home, sobbing, had played a heavy hand in the guilt flowers I’m clutching now. As well as the ripe and sudden jealousy I had no reason to feel when Gideon had followed her out, trying to comfort her. The relief I felt when she hadn’t let him. “I’m so sorry about Bry—"

“The fuck you are, Audrey. You never liked him.”

I nearly flinch as she stumbles closer, the bottle in her hand sloshing. Worst of it, she’s not wrong. I never liked Bryan. I had cared about him in a way, but liked? Maybe at the very beginning, before Jess and I, before any of this shit got so messed up. Before he got hurt and they just kept giving him those stupid pain pills.

I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat because I didn’t like her brother, but I liked her. I thought she’d liked me, cared about me the way I had her. “I’ll leave these on the porch for your mom.”

The death of a friendship is hard, but this can’t help but feel muted compared to my first. That alone adds to the guilt festering in my chest.

I’m only half turned, heading back to the porch, rapidly blinking away tears when she storms up to me. Her nails prick my shoulder as she tries to jerk me around, making my hold on the arrangement slip. I drop the vase at the same time she drops the bottle. The glass shattering on the gravel at our feet, her amber-tinted glass mixed with the crystal from mine. The smell of bourbon heavy in the air. “What the hell!?”

“Don’t you think it’s weird that my brother turns up dead days after your boyfriend shows back up?” For a moment, the desperate, pained expression on her face almost distracts me from what she actually said.

I don’t mean to scoff, and I know immediately it was the wrong thing to do as I shift away from the glass, her face reddening as she watches. Her feet are bare, if not a little dirty, the usually immaculate polish chipped. When I speak next, I try my hardest to keep my tone gentle. “He overdosed, Jess. Did you not talk to the police?”

“Of fucking course I talked to them!” she snaps, slamming her finger into my chest. “Told them all about your fucked up little boyfriend too. He’s weird, Audrey, and it's fucking even weirder—"

“Stop! It was an accident. Bryan was an alcoholic with a pill habit!”