The Mortician's Daughter: Three Heartbeats Away

by C. C. Hunter

  “Yeah.”

  We are barely pulled away from the curb when he says, “I posted a wedding dress for sale on Weddings For Less last night. After I posted it, I found a picture online of a blond girl in a wedding dress. I wished I hadn’t used that one.”

  I glance over at him. “Why?”

  “She kind of reminded me of you. And kind of like this Barbara, too.” He frowns. “If he has a type, you’re it. That scares me.”

  I already realized that. “Have you gotten any responses yet?”

  “Yeah. Two. But I don’t think it’s him. One is a consignment shop that specializes in wedding dresses, and the other is from a woman in California.”

  I see a school zone and slow down. “It could still be him and he’s testing you.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “You didn’t answer them, did you?”

  “No.” He studies me. “You didn’t mention how things went with your dad last night?”

  “Keep it between us?” I say.

  He frowns. “Yes.”

  I tell him everything—the missed call down to Dad’s tighty-whities exhibition that I wish I’d missed.

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  “I know.” And like with Kelsey this morning, his concern is genuine, and I feel a warm kind of pain in my chest. He cares about me. I care about him. But is that enough?

  I almost ask if Jacob called him, but we arrive at the library. I pull in and park.

  Hayden looks at me. “Let’s not go in together.”

  “Why?” That has my stomach knotting.

  “On the crazy chance they trace it here…the cops won’t link it to you and then connect it to the other case.”

  “Right, they’ll just link it to you,” I say with sarcasm. “Just let me do it?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. If the police knock on your door and ask how you knew this stuff, what are you going to say?”

  “That I was bored and ran across the articles online and started playing armchair detective.”

  I frown. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

  “It sounds a heck of a lot better than ‘a ghost made me do it.’”

  Everything went smoothly. Hayden sent Barbara an email with a link to Shane Casey’s post about her selling her wedding dress, then included articles about her disappearance. In less than ten minutes, we are on a winding county road to Red Clay, Texas, a small town about thirty minutes away that has two street-side mailboxes.

  Texas wildflowers, buttercups and Indian paintbrushes, become smears of color as I drive past them. The sky is almost too blue to be real, and the fat white clouds look photoshopped. It almost makes me forget why we’re taking this trip.

  Over the hum of the wheels making tracks on the road, I ask him how his mom is. The question has his jaw tightening and his shoulders drawing back. Instantly, I realize he’s been worrying so much about my problems and I haven’t been keeping up with his.

  “She’s hurting. My stepdad is being an asshole. She’s trying to keep it from me, but I heard her on the phone with him last night. He wants her to sell the house because he thinks he deserves half. But she owned it before they got married.” He runs his left hand down over jean-leg and squeezes his knee. “I’m considering calling him, telling him what a piece of shit he is.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He nods. “What’s bad is I fell for him, too. I thought he was a good guy. I never really loved him like my dad, but it was close.”

  When he finishes, I say, “Kelsey pointed out this morning that both she and I are dealing with parent problems, and so are you. I wonder if all parents screw up their kids’ lives.”

  He shifts in his seat. “My mom is great. She wants to micromanage me sometimes, but I know it’s because she loves me. And she and my dad were happy before he died.” He pauses and looks at me as if his mind is changing gears. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, but from everything I remember, I think your dad loves you. I’m not saying he’s right, and he has to stop drinking, but don’t give up on him.”

  My fingers tighten on the wheel, and I notice I have motor oil under my nails. “Maybe love isn’t enough.”

  “That sounds cynical.”

  “But true.” Then I realize I’m not just talking about Dad, but also about Hayden and me.

  He inhales. “Brandy’s parents are good. So are Jacob’s.”

  A frown curls up in my belly, and it’s not because their parents are happy. It’s the mention of the two people who might come between Hayden and me. “Has Jacob been in touch with you today?”

  “No. Why?” I feel him studying me. “What happened?”

  I give him the whole story and end with my biggest concern. “He’s not going to like it if you keep hanging out with me.” The words feel heavy even after they’re spoken.

  He pushes back into his seat, as if uncomfortable, but I’m betting it’s the conversation. “He’ll understand.”

  I stop at a light. “I don’t… I don’t want to come between you and him.”

  “You won’t. But I won’t let him come between us, either.”

  I want to believe that. But I can’t help but wonder what “us” means to him. Is he planning on breaking up with Brandy? Are we destined to be “just friends.”

  Leaning back in the seat, he runs his thumb under his seatbelt. “I remembered us taking the other road trip to Lake Canyon State Park.” Humor dances in his eyes. “We talked about funny song lyrics.”

  “Yeah, we did.” I laugh. “Last night you said you remembered other stuff. What was it?”

  He lifts a brow, and his smile is all bad-boy. “I recall, with detail, seeing you right after you got out of the shower. You were pulling the towel up and down.”

  I give him a firm look. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I didn’t mean to. I showed up, and there you were, minus clothes.” He laughs. “I remember all I could think was how much I wished towels came in smaller sizes.”

  “Stop,” I say, but on the inside, I’m smiling and feeling the rush of something sweet, something I want to explore more. Just not right now. Not until…

  “What else do you remember?” I ask.

  “Watching you sleep every night. The noise you make. The way you always start the night on your back and end up on your side.”

  “It wasn’t every night,” I say.

  “Yes, it was. It was the thing I looked forward to the most. I just didn’t come until you were asleep, and I left before you woke up.”

  His words tug at my heartstrings. “Why would you leave?”

  “I was afraid you’d get tired of me. You were the thing that kept me…alive. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t found you.”

  “Yes, you would. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for.” I see a sign that reads Welcome to Red Clay. “We’re here.”

  He looks out. “It’s on Main Street. I think you turn at the next red light.”

  We get to the UPS store, and out front is a mailbox waiting to take our letter. I pull over and unbuckle my seatbelt.

  “I got it.” He slips a pair of rubber gloves from his pocket, puts them on, and pulls the smaller envelope from the bigger one.

  Feeling as if we’re about to break a law instead of trying to save someone’s life, I glance around to make sure no one’s watching. People are milling around, but we’re of no interest to them. Hayden steps out of the Mustang, drops the envelope in the mailbox, and is back inside the car within twenty seconds.

  “Done.” The confidence and calm sounding of his voice is a stark reminder that I’m not feeling it.

  I tell my heart to stop trying to escape my chest. “I hope this works.”

  “It will.”

  I start driving back. Hayden stretches out his legs and leans his head back on the headrest. After a few seconds, he looks at me. “I also remember playing games with Annie. And finding out she has my blood type.”

  His wo
rds reach into my soul and squeezes, and I remember him wanting to give his life for Annie. “You really pissed me off then.”

  “I know, but I just… I was scared of not being whole if I came back, and I felt so sorry for her, and I thought she could have a full life where I wouldn’t have one. But you fixed that, too.”

  “It wasn’t just me. It was also her father and his brother.”

  “Yeah, you didn’t put your life on the line for it at all.” A frown punctuates his sentence that’s dripping with sarcasm.

  We spend most of the drive back discussing school, about everyone I met and haven’t met. He tells me some funny stories about science lab, how someone released all the frogs. We start talking about college again. I tell him that I plan on going to the local junior college.

  “I got accepted to UT,” he says as we get closer to his house. “But I don’t want to leave Mom yet. So I think I might go here for a year, too.” I feel him smiling at me. “Maybe we can take some of the same classes.”

  I pull up in front of his house. “Yeah.” I want so badly to believe it. That come fall, we’ll still be in each other’s lives. To believe Jacob won’t be a problem and Brandy will be a girlfriend of his past. But what’s worrying me is the fact that Hayden hasn’t reassured me he’s ending it with her. Is he still “figuring things out?”

  Right then, it hits: I feel like a girl on The Bachelor, vying to win a guy’s heart while he secretly revels in the fact that he has his choice of girls. I hate that show.

  He unbuckles his seatbelt, shifts over, and picks up a lock of my hair. His blue eyes stay fixed on my face. “I remember telling you I love you and you saying it back.”

  I give my Brandy and The Bachelor concerns a good shove out of my way and enjoy this moment. “I think I said it first.”

  He smiles. It’s crooked and filled with boy charm. “I thought it first.”

  A brief touch of his fingers at the side of my mouth says he’s going to kiss me. And everything inside me says I’m going to let him. That I want this.

  Right before his mouth touches mine, his phone rings. I hear him suck in air as if frustrated. “Sorry.” He pulls it out of his pocket to see the number, then quickly cuts it off. He refocuses on my eyes as if hoping the opportunity isn’t lost.

  But it is.

  “Brandy?” The bottled-up frustration explodes like a shaken soda and spews into my voice.

  “No.” His brow tightens. “It’s Jacob.”

  I pull in air and stare holes out my windshield. “In all the remembering you’ve done, have you recalled why you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, but then says, “Yeah. I kind of did.”

  I wince and turn to him. “And?”

  “I didn’t tell you because in my mind I didn’t have a girlfriend. It was over. Even if I’d woken up.” He runs a palm over his face. “I hadn’t been in the coma long, and I can’t explain all of it because part of the memory is blurred. But what I remember is one day, when I was at her place, I saw her diary. I don’t recall what I read, but—”

  “Wait. What?”

  “Yeah, I know the diary is personal, but…”

  “It’s not that!” I hold up my hand. “You were there, at Brandy’s, after…?” I feel slapped. My mind’s trying to wrap around what he said, but it feels too big to wrap, too big to grasp. “You…you were going to see Brandy when you were in the coma. When you were coming to see me, you were seeing her, too?”

  “Yeah, but only… It wasn’t like…”

  “Like what, Hayden? You mean, you didn’t get in bed with her? You didn’t pop in to see her when she was naked, too? This is horse shit!”

  “Riley, it wasn’t—”

  Hurt. Jealousy. Fury. And even more hurt. In my mind, I see him kissing Brandy. See them curled up in the hospital bed holding hands. I hear him telling me he needs time. Yup, this is a game of The Bachelor. And I hate that I’m praying he’ll give me the rose.

  “I need to go. Please get out of my car.”

  “It isn’t like you think.” His lips thin.

  “Can you please get out?” Remembering his walker, I cut off my engine and race to the back of my car. Breathing in, breathing out, I start sweating at the back of my neck. I yank the walker out and set it on the curb.

  Hayden comes around, and I hold up my hand.

  “Riley, let me explain.”

  “Nope.” I slam my trunk. The cracking sound feels good.

  “You owe me that much!” he spouts out.

  I rush to the driver’s side of my Mustang, slump into my seat, slam my door, start my car, and squeal off so fast I burn rubber. I swear I’m not going to look back. The masochist in me does anyway. Hayden, looking abandoned and hurt, stands at the curb, watching me peel out.

  I push my foot harder on the gas and watch as distance makes him nothing more than a little blip in the reflection.

  The thought that comes next brings on a new wave of emotion. Maybe Hayden belongs there. In my rearview mirror. In my past.

  I pull into my driveway. Hayden’s blowing up my phone with texts and voicemails. All of which I don’t plan on reading or responding to. I only want to go inside, find my cat—the only male anything I plan to let close to me for the rest of my fracking life—and curl up in bed. Before I exit my Mustang, I see a car across the street.

  No. Noooo. Noooooo.

  It can’t be her. Nope. Not now. Please not now.

  Then I see the driver’s door open, and I watch as Brandy gets out. She looks like some kind of supermodel. The breeze stirs her flowy flowery skirt. Her fitted T-shirt matches perfectly. And her red hair whispers around her shoulders. She’s wearing makeup that looks professionally done. To sum it up, she’s hot. And she doesn’t have a freaking black eye or motor oil under her nails.

  I don’t normally compare myself to other girls, but when it’s the girlfriend of the boy you love, it’s hard not to play the she’s-better-than-me game.

  “Why is she here?” I mutter aloud.

  The answer comes rushing back at me. Because she saw you melting all over her boyfriend yesterday. Because Hayden’s her boyfriend, not yours.

  I am so not in the mood to deal with this.

  I actually measure the distance between me and my front door and consider making a run for it. Or I could restart the car and NASCAR my way out of the neighborhood. I mean, what the hell am I going to say to her?

  Before I take either option, she’s walking up my driveway. Forced to face this, I open my door.

  “Hi.” One look at me and she flinches, probably because of my eye. I hide my dirty fingernails. She blinks nervously. “I was hoping to talk to you.”

  “You could have called.” My phone dings with another message.

  “I did. But you didn’t answer.” She stares at my phone as if noting I’m doing the same thing now to someone else. Little does she know it’s Hayden and she’s the reason I’m not answering.

  All of the sudden I realize what her statement might mean. That last night’s anonymous caller wasn’t my mom. My knees give a little, and I fall slightly against my car. I hadn’t realized how important it was to me that Mom called.

  “When did you call?” My mouth feels dry.

  “Last night.”

  “You didn’t leave a voicemail.”

  “I didn’t know what to say.”

  I wiggle my tongue around, suck on the back of my teeth, trying to find moisture. “About what?”

  “Can we go inside?” Brandy asks.

  I start walking to my porch. She follows.

  The second I open the door, Pumpkin comes sashaying over. I pick him up and motion Brandy to the living room. She eyes my cat sniffing the air toward her.

  “I’m scared of cats.”

  “He only attacks on command.” My internal smartass comes out to play.

  My heart is bouncing around my chest as she moves deeper inside my house.

  �
��Have a seat,” I say.

  She takes a spot on the sofa. I take one a few feet down from her. Pumpkin jumps from my arms onto the couch. Brandy scoots over. I give the orange tabby a nudge off the sofa, and he runs to his food bowl.

  Brandy sets her hands on her lap, folds them, then unfolds them. Is she afraid I’ll be getting the rose? She finally speaks. “Is something going on between you and Carter?”

  Shit. “We’re just friends.” I tell myself it’s not really a lie.

  “I saw you on his front porch yesterday.”

  My palms itch, and I rub them over my jeans. “I was having a bad day, and he was just being…nice.”

  She looks down, then up. “You aren’t just saying that because you’re afraid I’ll be upset?”

  Probably. Totally. But then, something about her tone sounds off. No jealousy. No bitch-get-away-from-my-boy timbre.

  When I don’t say anything, she adds, “Because I won’t be. Upset.”

  Okay, that takes me a few seconds to digest. “What do you mean?”

  “Carter’s so nice…”

  “Hayden,” I say. “He wants to be called Hayden now.”

  She nods. “Hayden’s great, but I think he feels a little fragile right now. And I’m afraid if I break up with him, he’ll think it’s because he can’t walk.”

  Break up with him? “He is walking. Perfectly,” I say, feeling defensive. “He just needs to strengthen his muscles.”

  “Yeah, but even so, I’m afraid he’d interpret it that way. You know how guys can be.”

  Do I? “What are you saying?”

  “He’s a great guy. He’s hot. He’s sweet. Conscientious. But even at the start, I kind of knew, I mean, I didn’t… I had…” She wrings her hands again.

  This sounds a little like what I told Jacob. “You like someone else?”

  She nods.

  I remember my suspicions. “You like Jacob.”

  Her fair skin goes fairer, and her freckles appear darker. She looks poised to deny it.

  “I know you do,” I say. “That night at Jacob’s party…”

  Her cheeks suddenly match her red hair. “Jacob told you about that?”