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“What are you talking about?” Lucy Olivia paled even as she claimed, “I did tell you.”
“All you said was that the guy was dead,” Skylar piped up from across the room.
“Yeah,” sixteen-year-old Ayden chorused. “And you didn’t even give us a name. Makes it sounds like the whole he-died thing is kind of made up.”
“Ayd.” Her older sister, Rory, nudged her in the arm in reprimand for that comment, but her other sister, Riley, agreed, “Well, she didn’t give a lot of details about him. If I’d had sex with someone, and he up and died—what was it—seven weeks later, I’d probably—”
“Oh my God!” Lucy Olivia exploded, gripping her head. “I’m not lying about this. The man is dead. Do you want me to show you his obituary?”
“Yes!” a room full of women—young and old—immediately chorused.
“Oh Jesus,” Lucy mumbled on an eye-roll. “Fine. Hold on.” Shaking her head and muttering to herself, she yanked her phone from her pocket and started to search. “You are all pains in the ass, I swear.”
“But you love us, anyway,” Chloe returned on a grin, batting her lashes and nudging her way closer in order to see the phone’s screen over Lucy’s shoulder.
Lucy Olivia elbowed her back, even as she giggled and warned, “Woman, stop breathing down my neck.”
“Love, love, love us,” Chloe chortled, kissing the side of Lucy’s cheek, which made Lucy Olivia laugh even more and tuck her face against her shoulder until she found what she was searching for. “Ha!” She held up the phone triumphantly, displaying it for us all to see. “Here it is. So suck on that, bitches.”
I snagged the phone before anyone else could get their hands on it. “Greggory Duke Merrill,” I read his name aloud, before sending her an arched-eyebrow glance. “Greggory, hmm?”
She flushed and rolled her eyes. “He went by Duke,” she mumbled before dropping her gaze sadly. “I worked with him.”
I nodded and went back to reading. “Age twenty-two. Geez!” My eyes flared wide. Dead at twenty-two. That seemed so young.
“You caught a younger man, Luce?” Skylar cheered, however. “Wow, way to go! My hero.”
Lucy Olivia cringed. “I wasn’t that much older than him,” she argued. “Just by a few years.”
“…Lost his fight with cancer,” I went on reading aloud, making all the smiles and laughs drop as they realized this man we were discussing was no longer alive, and this was still his obituary we were going through. “…In Ingall Memorial Hospital. He went to Roosevelt grade school, North Central High, and took a job with Beriss International last spring. Preceding him in death were his parents, Jim and Melissa Merrill. And he is survived by his brother, Vaughn Merrill.”
Hmm, not a big family. I winced some more, as I read off the funeral arrangements, which let us know the guy had died barely four weeks ago, which had been a mere week before Lucy realized she was even pregnant.
“So you didn’t even know you were carrying his kid when he died,” I surmised.
Lucy Olivia shook her head sadly. “Nope. I went to his funeral and everything. Had no idea the entire time.”
“God, Lucy.” Aunt Sarah rolled her chair closer to take her niece’s hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Me too, sweetie.” Aunt Eva patted her back. “How’ve you been holding up?”
Lucy cringed. “I’m not—I mean, it wasn’t…” She held up her hands. “Okay, fine. If you all really must know the whole story, this is how it went down. God.” She pressed a hand to her face and mumbled, “I can’t believe I’m going to admit this out loud.”
“Just tell us, baby girl,” Mom encouraged. “We’re here for you.”
“Okay, alright.” Lucy Olivia blew out a breath and dropped her hands. “We all knew Duke had leukemia when he started working with us last spring. He was always taking off for doctor’s appointments and chemo and such. When he went on hospice and decided to quit, we threw him a goodbye party, right. It was the least we could do.” She shrugged.
“The guy was a total womanizing flirt, though. He was sweet enough and harmless, but not at all my type. Except I think he was determined to sleep with the entire female population before he left this world.”
She paused to roll her eyes in irritation. “And yes,” she mumbled on a groan. “He finally got to me at the going-away party. He just laid it on so thick, playing the cancer card and catching all my sympathies just right. Then he almost started crying on me, telling me that was probably the last time he’d ever get to have sex with anyone, and probably also the last time I’d ever even see him alive. Which it was. He insisted I give him a proper send-off and grant him one last wish because he’d never get to be with a woman again.”
She threw her hands in the air and muttered, “Well, how the hell was I supposed to say no to that?”
“Whoa,” I breathed in shock. “So you got knocked up from giving a dyi
ng man sympathy sex?”
She shot me a dirty look. “It wasn’t my finest hour, okay? I was so worried about somehow hurting him, I didn’t even think about protection.”
