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“He knew he was going to die,” I said quietly. “He pretty much told me so during our interview. I asked him where he saw himself in ten years and he said, ‘dead.’ At the time I thought he was being dramatic, but he knew. Dammit. That was always the plan. He hated being sober and didn’t want to live that way.”
“That breaks my heart,” Aunt Meg said, dabbing at her eyes.
“Are you still going to publish the interview?” Fatima asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “He wanted me to do it the night we eloped, but I never had a chance. Now I don’t know what to do.”
“Publish it,” Zeke said in a gruff monotone. “That’s what he wanted. We should honor his wishes.”
“The time doesn’t seem right,” I protested.
“It’s never going to be right,” Fatima said. “But if he wanted you to put it out there, then you should.”
I didn’t say anything, torn between wanting to do the last thing Carter had asked of me and letting the hoopla surrounding his death die down first. By publishing now, it would seem like I was taking advantage of the current media frenzy. “I don’t want it to come across as opportunistic,” I said.
“You can’t help what other people think,” Aunt Meg said. “But Carter was your friend, and he asked you to publish it. He said it would help explain not just him specifically, but addiction in general. His story, his struggle, the things he opened up about, were important to him.”
No one responded because the limo had pulled up to the funeral home and slowed to a stop.
“I don’t see any press,” Fatima murmured, looking around.
“They kept the location top secret,” Zeke said. “Hopefully no one at the funeral parlor leaked it.”
He got out first and held out a hand to help me, Aunt Meg, and his mother. Then the five of us filed inside.
The first thing I saw was Aurora talking heatedly to a woman I didn’t recognize, her face contorted as she waved her arms around.
“Is that Harley?” Fatima whispered to Zeke.
He nodded, watching the exchange intently.
“Who’s Harley?” I asked.
“Tommy’s ex-wife.” Zeke broke away from us and approached Aurora and Harley. I couldn’t hear what he said, but Aurora’s face turned red, and she stalked off in the other direction in a huff. Harley turned to Zeke and hugged him. They exchanged a few words, she nodded, and then followed in the direction Aurora had gone.
“Were she and Carter friends?” I asked him when he rejoined us.
“Yeah. We were all tight. I wonder if Tommy knows she’s here. She said he’s not here yet.”
Right on cue, Tommy came through the front doors of the funeral parlor. And he didn’t look good. His suit was rumpled, his hair was sticking straight up, and his eyes were bloodshot and glassy. He’d obviously been suffering in his own way, just like the rest of us.
“Oh, hell.” Zeke made a face.
“Hey, man.” Tommy stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Am I late?”
“No. You okay?”
“No way in hell was I doing this sober.” He looked around. “Fuck, is it packed in there?”
“We haven’t gone in yet, but I think so.”
“Are we sitting together?”
“The email Aurora sent this morning said the first two rows were reserved for the band.”
“Right. Let’s go.”
“Hold up.” Zeke grabbed his arm, hesitating a moment before continuing. “You should know. Harley’s here.”
