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“It was a long time coming,” he says.
“Still,” says Miranda. “I know it’s rough.”
“She’ll be happier in Florida. We’re still business partners. She’s looking into expanding Graveyard Classics down south, so we’ll see how that goes.”
“She’s gone?” I ask, surprised that I don’t know about something so huge going on in his life. That Bekka has already packed up and left. I’ve really been wrapped up since my dad got sick. Between managing him and the store, and now Harley resurrecting our past, I guess I’ve been a shitty friend. “She was there the other night.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking at someplace in the middle distance. “It was pretty sudden. She just said she had to go. Like it was now, or she’d be stuck here in this nothing town forever.”
I’m at a rare loss for words. Bekka’s gone. I can’t say I ever liked her, but I know Badger loved her. I stare at my friend, trying to get a clue to how he’s feeling but as usual, he’s a stoic. He rocks back and forth on his heels.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“Chet wants to step up at the shop, be a bigger part of things.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes at that idea. Chet’s the sweetest; no doubt he’d love to step up. It’s just that he probably won’t. “She’s going to do her thing remotely.”
“I didn’t mean work.”
He shrugs, shakes his head. “Like I said, this is not a huge surprise. We’ve been growing apart for a while.”
“So,” says Miranda, changing the subject as she moves toward the door. “Corrine comes to take care of your dad starting tomorrow until the day after Christmas. She’s good with him and he knows her, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And I’ll be back on the Twenty-Sixth. But we’ll see you guys for Christmas dinner, right?”
“We wouldn’t miss it. I’m doing the sweet potatoes.”
She gives me a look like she doesn’t think I can do it all—take care of Dad, manage the store, and still find time to cook. Maybe she’s right.
“You’ll be okay getting your dad ready and in the car?” she asks with a worried frown.
“I’ll help,” says Badger, and I feel a rush of selfish gratitude. I’m not so great at physically dealing with my father. He’s much bigger than I am and still strong, and intractable when he wants to be.
“We’ll be fine,” I tell her, trying to convince myself. “We’ll come to Giselle’s Christmas recital—after the vigil.”
Miranda nods solemnly. She’s shared with me privately that she wishes Mrs. Wallace would change the date of the vigil, that it casts a pall over every Christmas. But for some of us, there’s already a pall over every Christmas. The town is divided in that way, those who were directly affected by the tragedy, and those who weren’t. Some people want to move on and forget, others can’t.
We embrace and Miranda leaves, her Jeep coughing to life, then rumbling down the drive. Badger grabs two beers from the fridge and a bag of Doritos from the pantry.
“Will you get that Jeep?” I ask him.
He pops each beer cap, hands one to me. “For Miranda?”
“Yeah,” I say. “How much?”
We move down the hallway toward the door to the basement where my father has his home office.
He gives me a number.
“Okay,” I say. I can swing that.
He lifts his eyebrows at me. “I didn’t realize the book business was so good.”
It’s not that good. But I’m a saver, have a little nest egg. And I’d rather spend it on my friend.
“You know,” I say, shooting back a smile as I open the door and start creaking down the steps. “Pain sells, right?”
It’s an echo of what he said to Harley back at the shop. Badger rolls his eyes.
“I didn’t mean you.”
“I know.”
