Two Feet Under: The Mortician's Daughter, Book 2

by C. C. Hunter

  “That’s good,” I say.

  She looks at me. “I was thinking last night that I know so little about you. Tell me something about Riley Smith.”

  I feel a little panic start to stir in my chest. Talking about myself is not my favorite pastime.

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “What are your hobbies?”

  “Oh.” I remember Mom’s easel still in my room, and the canvas with nothing but a few droplets of red paint on it. “I like art. I just bought some oil paints and some brushes.”

  “What kind of painting do you like? Modernism? Impressionism? Abstract?”

  I brush the back of my hand on my jeans. “I like abstract, but I enjoy drawing a lot so I kind of like realism, too.”

  “You want to be an artist?” She sounds genuinely interested.

  “Maybe. I’m thinking of doing a business major in college, but I want to minor in art.”

  “So you’ve got college plans?” she asks.

  “Nothing set in stone. But I’m thinking of going to the junior college and just getting the basics.”

  “I know what your dad does, but what does your mom do?”

  The question has me swallowing. “It’s just Dad and me. Mom passed away when I was young.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  All of a sudden, I hear footsteps behind me at the door.

  “Oh my. Hi Jacob,” Mrs. Carter says.

  Jacob? Jacob? Oh, shit! Crap! Air catches in my throat. Why haven’t I realized this could happen? I even encouraged him to come see Hayden. I’m an idiot.

  “Come on in,” Mrs. Carter says.

  I have yet to look back, but I can feel his stare. I can feel his surprise.

  “Hey?” The sound of his voice echoes with shock. His footsteps bring him closer. He stops. He’s standing right beside me.

  I glance over at Jacob, whose eyes are wide, his expression puzzled. “What are you . . . ?”

  “Do you know Riley?” Mrs. Carter asks.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Yeah.” Jacob’s gaze remains on me. “Why are you . . . here?”

  “She knows Carter from summer camp,” Mrs. Carter says.

  Jacob looks at Mrs. Carter, then back at me. “You do?”

  I nod.

  “Why didn’t you . . . tell me?”

  Yeah, I knew he was going to ask that. “I . . . didn’t realize it until recently.” I just pray he doesn’t ask how recent. “We both went to Piney Woods Camp three years in a row.”

  Mrs. Carter reaches for the picture I handed her. “She brought this today.” She hands it to Jacob. “Didn’t Carter tell you about the girl he tripped while dancing?”

  “Yeah,” Jacob says, staring at the image.

  “Well, Riley is her.”

  “Really?” He looks up at me. Doubt still puckers his brows. Then his gaze shifts to Hayden in the bed, and I see him flinch. He closes his eyes and looks back at Mrs. Carter. “I should go,” he says.

  He rushes out.

  Mrs. Carter stares after him. “I think it’s difficult for him to . . . be here. To see him like this. They were really good friends.” She gets tears in her eyes. “I really appreciate you being able to be here.”

  “I know,” I say, and my heart hurts for everyone.

  • • •

  I stay until visiting hours are over, but Mrs. Carter never quite gets over Jacob’s hasty escape. I walk out of the hospital, straight to my car, hoping Hayden is there.

  He is. I crawl inside, unsure if he’s still mad at me about seeing Ramon or if he’s mad at me for coming here.

  “I’m sorry I blew up,” he says, his apology so needed. “You just . . . I worry.”

  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

  He leans over the console to kiss me. His lips touch mine, and I feel his mood. It’s not great. Or maybe that’s just mine.

  When he pulls back, I see hurt in his eyes. “I hate you being up here, but my mom doesn’t. You’re good for her. She calms down when you’re here.”

  “She loves you.”

  “I know. That’s why this hurts so much. She spends too much time here. All she does is worry.”

  “You’re her son. She loves you.”

  “I know.” He kisses me again. When he pulls back, he smiles a little. “I think I figured out something that might help Annie.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “I went back to the Free Bloods apartment we went to first. I found some of the members and hung around until one of them got a phone call from Ramon. I peered over his shoulder and got it. I got Ramon’s number.”

  I laugh with relief. “Now I can call him and say all the things I should have said. You’re the greatest.” I pull out my phone and put it in my contacts. My mind is already thinking of what I’m going to say, but I realize I first need to talk to Mr. Brooks.

  “But you are not meeting with him. Not alone.”

  I’m working up an answer that’s just short of promising because, like last time, it might be taken out of my hands again.

  He frowns, his gaze shifts over my shoulder, and he says, “Shit.”

  “Wh . . . ?” I don’t get the word out before a knock hits my window.

  I twist around. Jacob is standing right outside my window, staring at me. Staring at me having a conversation with myself.

  I glance back at Hayden. “I have to talk to him,” I say in a low voice while trying not to move my lips.

  “I know,” he says.

  I jump out of my car.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Having a rant. You know, blowing off steam.”

  His frown stays in place, and he rakes a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Carter?”

  I see Hayden now standing outside my car. We have an audience. Great.

  I focus back on Jacob. “I was going to, but—”

  “Did you recognize him when you saw his picture at the lake house?”

  That works. “Yeah.”

  “But you could have told me at school all this week.”

  “It just . . . it never came up. And I kind of knew it might upset you.”

  He closes his eyes. “It’s just weird that you knew him all this time.”

  “I know.”

  “God, I can’t even look at him, he looks so bad.”

  I shift my eyes to Hayden, knowing how hard it could be for him to hear that. I know Jacob isn’t meaning to hurt Hayden, but he is, and something inside me screams for me to protect him.

  “I should go.” I turn to my car.

  “I just want him to die,” Jacob says.

  I swing around so fast I’m almost dizzy. His words sting like tabasco on a fever blister. “Don’t say that!”

  “Even if he wakes up he’s going to be one of those people who just drools on himself. Carter wouldn’t want that.”

  I see Hayden’s expression of sheer pain. Air locks in my chest. “Stop. Shut up. Shut up.”

  “Seriously, Carter would rather be dead.”

  Fury at Jacob has my shoulders tightening, my spine locking, my lip snarling. “Shut up!” I slap my hand over his mouth. “He could wake up and be fine.”

  Jacob pushes my hand away. “Seriously? Didn’t you see what he looks like?”

  Hayden’s eyes go moist. His hurt, his disgust, wiggles its way into my heart. Jacob looks ready to say something else. I go batshit crazy, putting my face in his. “I said shut up!”

  For the first time, he seems to see me. Hear me. He shifts back. “I’m just—”

  What’s wrong with this guy? “Don’t say another word!” I stomp my foot. Then to keep from hitting Jacob, I yank open my car door and slam it shut. The cracking sound echoes in my car. I feel nothing but anger. I breathe it in. I breathe it out.

  “You okay?” Jacob leans closer to the window.

  “Hayden?” I say his name, but he’s not in the car with me. I look out the window. He’s not there, either.

&
nbsp; In the space of another breath, he appears in the seat beside me. “Jacob’s right, Riley.” Sadness deepens his tone. “I don’t want that.”

  “You don’t know that’s what’s going to happen.”

  “But what if it is?” He hesitates. “I should go.”

  “Don’t you dare—”

  “I’m not going to do anything, but I think we need to get real. Later.” He fades. Only then do I realize Jacob is still standing at my window watching me talk to myself again.

  I start my car and drive off with Jacob staring at me as if I just sprouted a second head, grew a third eye, and spit fire.

  • • •

  If I hadn’t promised Kelsey I’d come over and we’d go to lunch at her mom’s restaurant, I would’ve gone straight home, locked myself in my room, and let myself have a meltdown. But as tempting as it is to do just that, I know Kelsey’s really looking forward to us going out to eat.

  She’s even bringing a really nice camera to take some pictures for her posts about the restaurant on social media. So, pulling my big-girl panties up, I drive straight to her house.

  I look over at Jacob’s driveway, praying his truck isn’t there. It isn’t. Before I cut off my engine I see the time on my dashboard. Annie’s going into surgery. One of those lumps of emotions lands in my chest again.

  Please. Please let her make it.

  I hurry out of my car to get Kelsey and leave before Jacob has a chance to get home. The last thing I want to do is explain any of this to Kelsey.

  Rushing onto Kelsey’s porch, I barely get one knock in before she opens the door.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  She tilts her head to the side, like a curious puppy, and stares.

  “What?” I ask.

  “I just got a very strange phone call from Jacob. Actually, it was more like a bunch of questions. One: did I know that you knew Carter? Two: did I know you have long conversations with yourself in your car? Three: do I know why you completely wigged out on him?”

  “Well, shit!” I say because I don’t have any other words to throw at this right now.

  Her arms slowly fold over her chest, the curious-puppy look turns into a curious-dog look that’s not so cute anymore. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Carter?”

  I have to find some words. But secluding myself in my room sounds really, really good right now. “Because . . . because I didn’t realize I knew him until recently.” I swear I’m going to hell for all these lies.

  “But Jacob said you knew since last weekend. Why didn’t you tell me then? He also said you were at the hospital when he went up there. And that Carter’s mom knows you.”

  “Yeah. I . . . I didn’t mention it because it sounded stupid! I shouldn’t be upset because . . . it was years ago that I knew him. But I really liked him. And then you were dealing with your mom’s problems, so I didn’t want to burden you with this too.”

  She continues to eyeball me. I’m not sure she’s buying this, but then her crossed arms drop.

  “How is your mom?” I ask.

  “Don’t change the subject. Do you think that’s the reason you sketched that picture of him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Does any of this have to do with the reason you ended it with Jacob?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t think so.” Tears fill my eyes.

  “Are you crying?” She looks concerned.

  “No. Maybe. Probably. It’s PMS.”

  “Will I ever figure you out?”

  “Probably not.”

  She exhales, and I hear it in her release of air. Not belief. She doesn’t believe me. The sound isn’t an all-out agreement to drop it. I can tell by the glint in her eyes that she’s still curious as hell and she’s going to bring it back up. But what I hear is a willingness for a temporary reprieve. She’s going to let this go for now.

  Kelsey has to be the best friend ever.

  We leave. I spend the next hour acting as if all is well. I should win an Oscar. I fake smiles, I listen to Kelsey talk about the different posts she’s planning and how she’s going to use the photographs she’s taking—and she’s taking a lot of photographs. They all have really good composition. She admits that she took photography for a year at her last school.

  The manager, Kelsey’s boss, comes out and is super excited by Kelsey’s ideas and images. So excited that he says our lunch is on him. Then Kelsey orders enough food for a family of ten.

  When the food comes, I stare at it while Kelsey takes more images. Close-ups. Table shots. With flash. Without flash.

  I’m afraid my Oscar career is about to come crashing down, because my stomach feels like a double-knotted pretzel running from a pump of cheese. I’m not sure I can handle food right now.

  Then my phone dings with a text. I read it. And bam! At least one of the wrongs in my life feels a little righter. It’s Annie’s mom texting to tell me that Annie came through the surgery without even one complication.

  I continue to read. She tells me the same thing Mr. Brooks did. It’s not a fix, but it gives us time.

  I didn’t realize I was holding my breath, but I must have been, because I feel my lungs relax and for a few seconds I feel like I’m floating.

  “Let’s eat,” Kelsey says. When I look up, she’s got her camera on me. I smile in earnest for the first time today.

  Kelsey starts snapping shots. One just of my hand reaching for a crispy chicken finger and several of me bringing the chicken finger to my lips.

  She pulls the camera back and looks at the images on the screen. “Wow,” she says, staring at them. “Can I use these?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  Then she suddenly makes a face. “That’s weird.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “The last one. It’s a great shot. But you’ve got . . .”

  “What?” I reach up and squeeze my nose. “Not a booger?”

  She laughs. “No. An aura.” She shows me the image.

  I stare. It is weird. It’s just like Annie said, I’m glowing. Then I recall the lunch lady mentioning an aura too.

  “It’s just the light in here,” I say. My smile wanes, for I’m not sure I believe my own words. Then again, if glowing is the price I pay to save Annie, to save Hayden, bring on the glow.

  • • •

  Sunday morning I get a text from Kelsey saying she’s planning on working all day on her posts for the restaurant, but could I come over in the afternoon to do homework together? I text her back: Sure thing.

  I hear movement downstairs. Probably Dad getting ready for church. Last night when I got home, he told me he needed to work today. Then he told me that on Tuesday his boss is sending him to Dallas for a few days to look at a funeral home he’s considering buying.

  He’s all worried about leaving me by myself. I reminded him that I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks. He relented and then hugged me. I hugged him back. And when I did, I sniffed his clothes to see if he smelled of cigarette smoke again. He hadn’t. I hope that means he hadn’t been drinking.

  I push the covers off. I’ve been awake about an hour, but I stay in my bedroom hoping Hayden or Mr. Brooks will show up.

  Remembering my promise to go see Annie, I’m about to crawl out of bed when I hear Dad coming up the stairs.

  He knocks and sticks his head in. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “I’m heading out,” he says. “I should be home around dinnertime. If you want to cook, that’s great, or we can order something in.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  He starts to back out, but he stops. And I see what he’s looking at.

  The easel.

  His gaze shifts back to me. His eyes are wide, almost haunted-looking.

  “I found it in the boxes in the garage,” I say. “I needed one.”

  “I . . . I didn’t know you wanted to paint.”

  “I saw a woman painting outside an art supply store. I thought I’d try it. So I bought some paint and stuff.” Wh
en he still looks unhappy, I add, “I used my own money.”

  He finally nods. As he’s easing back as if to leave, I force myself to ask something.

  “How often did Mom paint?”

  “I don’t know,” he says. “She’d do it for a while and then stop.” He takes another step back, and I see it in his eyes. He wants away from the conversation and away from Mom’s easel. “I should go.”

  “Dad?”

  He turns around. “Yeah.”

  “Why do you hate talking about her?”

  “Who said I hate talking about her?”

  I should probably drop it, but I don’t want to. There are so many questions I want to ask and feel I can’t. “Your expression. Your body language.”

  He frowns. “You’re reading something that’s not there. I need to go or I’m going to be late for church.”

  I watch him leave. I listen to his footsteps thump down the stairs. Instead of crawling out of bed, I reach for the photo album on my bedside table, the one that has pictures of me from when I was young and the five or six images of Mom in it. Once I asked Dad why I had so few pictures of her. He told me Mom didn’t like to have pictures taken.

  I open it up. I run my finger over the image of her when she was young. Probably around my age. She’s not smiling. From what I gather from her diary, she didn’t have a good childhood.

  As I study her face, it hits me for the first time how much we look alike. Her hair is long and blond and wavy just like mine. I turn the page to find my favorite image. The one of her standing beside a Mustang, one where she’s actually smiling. That picture is the reason I wanted the car.

  I flip the page and find it. I smile. The image isn’t completely sharp. And it’s kind of grainy. I look at it again, and suddenly I notice something. I sit up and bring the album closer to see the picture.

  Mom has a glow around her. Very similar to the one I had in the picture Kelsey took of me yesterday.

  What does this mean?

  Chapter Sixteen

  I spend thirty minutes visiting with Mrs. Carter. She’s telling me Hayden stories. His first dog. The time he brought home a squirrel and was so upset because he’d accidently hit it, and he buried it in his backyard where he buried his other pets. Every story she tells is just confirmation of his character and good heart.