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Death peered out the window, glancing at the gates of Mosswood Cemetery. It suddenly reminded Bunny of the first time she’d seen him. He’d been little more than a figment of her grief-addled mind, or so she’d thought. She’d never have guessed that seeing a strange man dressed in black at her mom’s funeral would lead to such life-altering circumstances.
“You used to live here?” he asked, taking in the recently rebuilt Hand of God Southern Baptist Church as they made a right into Oak Street.
“Yep,” Bunny breathed. They coasted under a streetlight. Its blazing into life had used to be a signal to get home right quick, when she and Ben had been kids on a curfew. “A long time ago.”
“Why’d you leave?”
The question caught her off-guard. Not because she’d never thought about it, but because no one had ever asked her outright before. She’d always explained her desire to get out of town as being bored with the small-mindedness that filled the place, the lack of opportunities for ambitious people. But none of that was true. There were plenty of good people in Mosswood, and her own brother was a testament to the opportunities that existed there for those willing to work hard for them.
The reality was harder for her to admit, but she felt safe in doing so now.
“I was scared,” she shrugged, braking as she saw the cheerful yellow mailbox of her family home a little ways down the street on her left.
Death was looking right at her now. She could imagine the intensity in his eyes, the fullness of his lips that she would see forever without even needing to look at him. “Of what?”
She refused to glance his way, focusing instead on pulling Morticia into the driveway. “That I’d get trapped here.”
The porch light had come on before she’d even closed the driver’s side door behind her. Her dad looked the same as ever—stoic and dependable. Marshall Major was a tower of a man with broad shoulders and kind eyes. They sparkled in the light from the porch as he almost skipped down the steps to go meet his daughter.
“Hey, Flopsy,” he said warmly, folding her into a hug. The childhood nickname was like a dish of warm apple pie and ice cream.
“Hey, Dad.” Bunny smiled, squeezing him tightly.
“It’s great to see you,” he said, releasing her and reaching into the back of Morticia for her overnight bag.
“You too,” Bunny agreed, slipping her hands into her pockets, and glancing up at the trees that stretched above the house. They seemed taller than the last time she’d been there, which hadn’t been that long ago. “Any coffee in the pot?” she asked hopefully.
“You and your mother both,” Marshall chided her teasingly. “How y’all could drink coffee at this time of night and still sleep is beyond me.”
“Strong constitutions,” Bunny replied with a grin, parroting back her mother’s favorite excuse for anything she’d done that her husband hadn’t agreed with.
He chuckled, and the pair of them went up into the house. Death trailed behind and slightly to Bunny’s left. When she did glance at him out of the corner of her eye, he seemed to be taking stock of the place, examining small details like the tiny concrete sparrow perched on the edge of the birdbath in the garden. Light winked through the door’s glass panes from the kitchen within.
Stepping across that threshold always felt like setting foot in another world. It was a place where she wasn’t halfway through life. In this kitchen, she always felt like she was ten years old, even when she had a coffee or a glass of alcohol in her hand. Her dad slipped her overnight bag onto the counter, and Bunny was pleased to see the place looked a lot tidier than when she’d last been in town. It was a bittersweet sign that her dad was coping with the loss of her mom.
She settled onto a stool at the counter, gratefully accepting the mug of black coffee that her dad pushed her way. Death lingered just inside the kitchen door, looking oddly at home amongst the coats and reusable grocery bags hanging from hooks on the wall behind him.
Taking a sip of coffee, Bunny let the flavor wash over her.
“Is everything okay, hon?” her dad asked. She could tell he was striving to keep his tone light. Non-confrontational.
“Of course,” she blinked, a knot of suspicion tightening inside of her. “Why d’you ask?”
“You just seem a little off,” he said, peering into her face. “I can’t put my finger on it. And you haven’t visited this often in… well. Years.”
She pretended to be affronted, straightening in her chair, and looking her dad in the eye cheekily. “Can’t I just come home and see my dad when I feel like it?”
Homeslipped out almost of its own accord, and the significance of it doing so wasn’t lost on Marshall. His brows lifted, his expression softened, and he reached out to curl a hand around Bunny’s, coffee mug and all.
“You can come home anytime you want,” he told her earnestly, placing zero emphasis on the word so it sounded as natural as breathing. “But I hope you know you can talk to me about stuff anytime you want, too.”
It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about reaching out to her dad about her celestial role. Had he known about her mom? Had he been supportive? Or had she kept him in the dark about it all, too? As far as Bunny knew, there weren’t any rules about who she could tell about her cosmic moonlighting. She just figured she’d have to be careful about who she trusted with that information, lest she suddenly find herself committed to a locked ward of her very own.
She took a breath, feeling the words on the tip of her tongue. Her dad’s eyes searched her face, like he sensed that they were on the edge of a precipice too. She hesitated a moment longer, before she swallowed and reached for her coffee mug.
“I’m fine,” she replied, flashing her dad a fleeting smile before she took a sip.
“Bunny, I love you,” Marshall told his daughter. A shadow played around his eyes, and he gave his head a small, almost imperceptible shake. “But you sure are a terrible liar.”
