by Kelley York
“Don’t hide,” Evan whispered. Archer said nothing, but he laid there with Evan’s arms around him.
And cried for the first time in years.
Tuesday, October 21st
“What do you wear to a viewing, anyway?” Archer asked. Evan helped him pick out something appropriate, leaving him with a nicer outfit for the funeral the following day.
Two funerals in the last few months. First Brody’s, now Marissa’s. The funeral itself wasn’t until tomorrow, but the viewing would be at the chapel today in the same funeral home where Brody’s service had been held. There’d been no viewing for Brody. He’d been dead for over a week by that point, and no one would’ve gone anyway. Even among his family he hadn’t been very popular.
Marissa’s service, though, was rushed. That was mostly his doing; Vivian didn’t want her family around for weeks. Over and done with as quickly as possible.
Evan insisted on driving him, never mind if he missed more of his classes. Archer was in no mood to argue. The day ahead seemed so daunting, even with Evan along for the ride. The family-run funeral home sat off the side of the road, surrounded by tombstones and wrought iron gates while the lonely spired chapel top stretched for the sky.
Archer recognized grandmother Beatrice and Marissa’s sister, Nancy, near the front of the funeral home with their respective husbands, whose names Archer couldn’t remember. The women in the family always stuck out. The guys either blended into the background or weren’t there at all. Maybe it was a Hilton family thing.
Nancy was the spitting image of her sister, if Marissa were ten years older and had a smoker’s cough. Her eyes were red when she looked at Archer. The old-fashioned mourning veil hid Bea’s face too well to see if she’d been crying, too. It’d been a few years; maybe they didn’t recognize him.
“Can I help you?”
He’d intended on slipping past them, but this was their loss, too; he supposed he owed them some sort of condolences. “I’m here to pay my respects to Marissa,” he said. “I’m Vivian’s friend.”
Beatrice seemed to recognize his face. “Oh. Yes. Archie, wasn’t it?”
His jaw tensed. “Archer, yes.”
She nodded solemnly. “Sorry to tell you that Vivian isn’t here. She couldn’t bring herself to go inside.”
So she just left? Archer bit back the curse dancing on the tip of his tongue. “That’s all right; I’ll give her a call later. Excuse me.” He started to step forward. No one moved. The two women glanced at one another then back at him. Nancy smiled faintly.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Marissa’s will said if we had a viewing, she didn’t want anyone but the immediate family present. You’re welcome to come back to the service tomorrow.”
Archer curled his hands at his sides. They weren’t going to let him in? Didn’t they know who he was, how important he’d been to Marissa? “I was there the night she died,” he ground out. “I’m one hundred percent sure she’d have no problems with me going in to see her.”
Nancy nodded. “I know. But her will stated…”
“Fuck her will,” he snarled. “Out of all her kids, who do you see here? Is it Brody? Is it Vivian? No. I’m here, and she always told me I was like a son to her. Why can’t you just let me…” The words caught in this throat, grinding like broken glass. His shoulders shook and all he could think was, They don’t know. They don’t know I loved her like my own mother. She would’ve wanted me in there. Vivian would want me there.
“I think you need to learn to have some respect, young man,” Nancy’s husband, What-the-Hell-was-his-name, spoke up and stepped around his wife, who’d started crying all over again. “This is a family ceremony, and you aren’t family. You’re upsetting my wife, so I’d appreciate it if you left.”
How satisfying would it be to slam a fist into the guy’s face? None of them understood. None of them cared. “There’s not a one of you here who knows what Marissa would have wanted,” he hissed.
Evan took his hand, fingers lacing together. When he tugged, Archer didn’t resist. No one said anything.
All this way for nothing.
They got back into the car, and Archer slumped down, staring out the window. Evan fussed with the keys. “We could come back later, you know,” he offered. “Once everyone’s gone.”
Archer locked his eyes on the group by the door, who were still staring after him. “They’ll tell the funeral director not to let me in.” He could call Vivian. Ask her to come up there and explain to everyone he belonged in there, but he didn’t think she’d do it.
He glanced over. Evan was watching him, worried. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’ll pay you back for the gas.”
“Knock it off; I’m the one who insisted on driving.” Evan started up the car. “It doesn’t need to be a waste, anyway. Let’s get something to eat, and we’ll swing by later to see if we can get in. How’s that?”
Archer had little desire to do much of anything, but that included arguing. He needed to come back, whether he wanted to deal with it or not. “The red dress.”
Evan blinked. “Do what?”
“Marissa wanted to be buried in this…red dress of hers.” He looked down, watching their fingers still laced together. Unsure what to make of it.
“And you wanted to make sure they put her in it.”
“I doubt it was in her will. But she told me, and if I can’t do anything else, then I can at least make sure she’s wearing the dress she wanted.”
“And if she’s not?” Evan turned out onto the street. “What will you do about it?”
Archer opened his mouth, closed it again, frowned. There wasn’t a lot he could do, he guessed, but he needed to try. “It was her favorite dress… I should’ve looked for it at her house the other night.” If the dress was in Marissa’s closet, what would he do? Take it? Try to convince the funeral home to change her?
“Well.” Evan gave his hand one last squeeze. He sounded cheerful despite everything. “I guess we should stop by Vivian’s and see if it’s there, right?”
§
They grabbed a quick lunch at a restaurant up the road before heading to Marissa’s. No one had returned from the viewing yet, and Vivian’s car wasn’t there, either. No one home. Better that way. Archer had a key and let himself inside.
He slipped upstairs with Evan on his heels. Sunlight warmed the rest of the house, but Marissa’s room was shrouded in darkness, shadows and captured light playing tricks on the surface of dolphin snow globes. He headed straight for the closet, rifling through the hangers. The overwhelming, familiar aroma of rain and gardenia filled his lungs, and it made the need to see to Marissa’s last request all the more desperate.
The red dress stuck out amongst greens and earthy browns. He pulled it out, overly delicate in his movements and held it out at arm’s length. Evan lingered near his side, watching silently.
“It’s nice.”
Archer quirked a smile. It was plain, honestly. Nothing special about it. But it was what Marissa wanted.
As they slipped down the stairs and into the kitchen, the front door opened.
She’s home. Archer swore inwardly. Evan’s eyes widened. Did they run? Did they greet Vivian casually, like they weren’t sneaking around her mother’s house? Did he call her out on not showing up to the viewing? He didn’t know how to explain it to her, so he did the only thing he could think to do. He grabbed Evan’s hand and ran.
They slipped silently out through the back door before Vivian saw them, down the back steps, around the side of the house and through the gate. No sooner had they dove into the car than Evan had them rolling away from the curb. Archer held his breath. Waiting for Vivian to open the front door and see them. To call and ask what the hell he was doing.
But they made it down the street without incident, and he could breathe again. Evan started to laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever had to sneak out of someone’s house before.”
Archer blushed, breathless. “I didn’t know w
hat to say to her if she caught us. ‘Hi, just borrowing your dead mother’s dress’?”
“You could’ve told her the truth,” Evan mused.
“Could have.” Archer didn’t think it would go over well. ‘Why’d you tell him about the dress and not me? Why wouldn’t Mom let me know something like that?’ A million things he didn’t want to hear. “Too late for that now. Let’s get back to the funeral home and see what we can do.”
§
Archer tossed the hanger into the backseat and gingerly folded the dress before getting out of the car to head into the funeral home. A stout man in a button-up shirt and slacks that were a little too short on him greeted them just inside the door. “Hello, gentlemen,” he said warmly. “How may I help you?”
Here goes nothing. “I’m a member of the Hilton family,” Archer said. “I’m here for the viewing.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The man pursed his lips. “I’m afraid that ended about thirty minutes ago. Everyone just left.”
Archer forced a smile. “Running late, I know. If I could just have a few minutes…”
The man stroked his chin like he was used to having a beard there. His worried, beady eyes went from Archer to a nearby door and back again.
“It’s just for a few minutes,” Evan spoke up. He pulled off looking mournful rather well. “We drove all this way to see her, and it would be devastating if we didn’t get to say good-bye.”
The director sighed. “Well, just for a few minutes, but I have another viewing scheduled…”
Archer tuned him out.
They were led to the door the man had glanced at moments ago, into a small room with a few chairs, flowers, soft lighting—and Marissa’s casket. Their host gave them a polite nod and a sympathetic smile, shut the door, and left them alone.
A quiet ambiance of music wafted through the air but Archer couldn’t tell where it came from. He hung at the back of the room, staring straight ahead. From this angle, he couldn’t see Marissa lying in her coffin, and for the first time he thought maybe it was better that way. What was he doing, anyway? She was dead. She wouldn’t care what dress they put her in.
What’s wrong with you? You’ve seen plenty of dead people before.
He’d watched his own father die. Of course, he loved Marissa more than he loved his dad. And the other people he’d killed…he hadn’t cared about any of them. Looking into the face of someone you cared about and knowing they were gone wasn’t the same.
“Archer.” Evan’s voice startled him. He dug his heels in, rooted to the ground. “Archer,” Evan said again, sterner this time. “You wanted to do this, now we’re here. You’re not gonna get another chance.”
Archer willed his body to move, carrying him across the room. At least her casket was nice. Dark cherry wood, lined in black, plush velvet. Of course it was nice. Archer had spoken to the funeral director on the phone the other day and found out Marissa had everything planned and paid for. ‘She wanted to take the burden off her family,’ the funeral director had explained in a patient tone. In a way, Archer felt relieved. Vivian couldn’t have handled it.
But the person lying in the coffin wasn’t Marissa. Not anymore. Her skin was too waxen and pale. Her blonde hair hung in ringlets around her face, and her lipstick was a shade of red too bright. She never wore lipstick, much less something so tacky. She only ever curled her hair for special occasions. And he couldn’t feel her there. This thing lying before him was an empty shell, nothing more.
“The dress she’s wearing,” he murmured to Evan, “she never wore it. Said it looked like something you’d wear to a funeral.”
Evan gave a wry smile. “Funny how things work out.”
Archer glanced at the door. How bad would it look if beady-eyed-man returned and caught them undressing a corpse? ‘This isn’t what it looks like’ probably wouldn’t save them. “Can you guard the door?”
Without a word or even a question, Evan relocated to the door. No lock on the knob, so he leaned against it instead. Archer turned back to Marissa, shoved up the bottom half of the coffin lid and got to work changing her.
He’d always made it a point not to touch the bodies he killed. Too much of a risk of leaving evidence behind. He would check for a pulse and go on his way. So the coldness of Marissa startled him at first, made his stomach roll, but he forced himself through it.
Thankfully the dress she was wearing came off with little effort, and he tossed it to the floor to deal with later. The trick was not staring at her, noting how he could count every one of her ribs even through her slip, how skeletal she looked, and trying not to let his vision blur.
It’s not her. It’s not her anymore.
Someone knocked on the door. He bolted upright and looked to Evan.
“Gentlemen? I’m sorry to cut this short, but I really have another viewing to prepare for…”
“Just a few more minutes,” Evan called back. “We’re, uh. We’re praying.” He gestured to Archer to hurry it up.
He quickly tried to get Marissa redressed. Her limbs were so stiff it made getting her arms through the sleeves tricky. Her hair was mussed by the time he had her settled again.
Better. Much better. She looked more like herself now. More at peace.
Another knock, more impatient. Archer touched a hand to her cheek. Leaned down, kissed her forehead.
Thank you. For everything.
He drew away and pulled both lids down on the casket, scooping up the black dress as Evan stepped back from the door. Beady-eyed-man finally came in, and thankfully Evan spoke because he was fairly certain he couldn’t. “Sorry. We’re done now. Thanks for letting us see her.”
Beady-Eyes gave them a bit of a frown, but he forced a smile as he escorted them out. Archer’s head spun. He’d just stolen the dress of a dead woman, ran away from the girl who was supposed to be his best friend, undressed and redressed a corpse. All in the span of a few hours.
Halfway to the car he stumbled. Evan caught him and helped him along the rest of the way.
Wednesday, October 22nd
He didn’t remember coming home and sleeping the rest of the day and well into the next morning. Well, he did remember Evan petting his hair, lying beside him. That was about it. He woke in the morning to the smell of bacon. When he crawled out of bed and into the kitchen, Evan had breakfast sitting on the table, waiting for him.
Beyond initial good mornings, they didn’t speak. Archer ate his food only because Evan had cooked it and he didn’t want to be impolite. While Evan went home to get changed, Archer took a shower, dressed, and sat out on the steps to wait.
He’d expected the viewing to be upsetting. It had been, but not like this. Everything in the air felt heavy all around him. Vivian’s family might know he came back after they’d left. Though whether or not they’d bring it up was a different story. Vivian would be there, and that meant he needed to toughen up and stay strong for her sake.
His mother would be there. He didn’t want to see her.
Evan pulled the car around. It was the third time in a week they would make this trip, and Archer wanted to find a way to apologize. Not that he thought Evan would’ve listened to a word of it. Instead, he tried to lose himself in the steady rumble of the engine, the absent lyrics of the radio.
The parking lot was fuller this time, with a few cars on the side of the road. Evan found a spot and circled around to where Archer got out. “The second you wanna leave, just let me know.”
Archer’s gaze couldn’t meet Evan’s. So infinitely patient, so eager to make things better. Alternating between shy helpfulness and determined insistence. Archer only nodded, and they headed inside.
Vivian stood with her grandparents near the front of the chapel. Most people were sitting, though a few were drifting up front to whisper their condolences to Viv, to say good-bye to Marissa. Her casket was closed now, possibly due to the presence of Vivian’s younger nieces and nephews, who were squirming impatiently in their seats. Kids who hadn�
�t even known Marissa and were only along for the ride. As a matter of fact, Archer wondered how many of these people were only there out of obligation.
As they headed down the aisle, Vivian caught sight of him and started to smile. The moment her eyes landed on Evan, her expression fell. Evan gracefully excused himself, taking a seat in the front row in order to give Archer a moment alone with Vivian. She threw her arms around him the second he was close enough, and all but ignored Evan’s existence. It was brash and rude, even for her.
Archer hugged her, feeling the dampness of her cheeks against his neck long after she drew away. Grandmother Bea gave him a dark look, no doubt still holding a grudge about their last conversation. Like he cared. There were a hundred more important things to worry about than a cranky old lady.
“How’s it been?” he asked, keeping his voice down. She slipped her arms to link with one of his, leaning into him.
“Grandma’s terrible… She’s already trying to get me to go through Mom’s stuff and throw things out. I mean, I know I have to do it eventually, but…” She looked off, shaking her head.
But Marissa’s not even in the ground yet, he thought sourly. Vivian had a right to be irritated, just as she had a right to put her foot down. It was her mother, and undoubtedly everything in that house now belonged to Viv.
“They’ll be leaving in the morning,” she whispered. “Will you stay tonight? Please?”
Not on his list of things he hoped Vivian would say. He closed his eyes. “Vivian…”
“What?” Her expression darkened. “Is it because of him? You can’t even stay with me now?”
Defensiveness trickled into his tone without meaning for it to. “You’re out of line. After the other night, I really don’t think putting ourselves in that situation again is a good idea.” When she gave him a petulant pout, he scowled. “I told you. You’re welcome to sleep at my place and I’ll crash on the couch.” Even that was pushing it. Too bad he’d already opened the invitation, and he couldn’t very well take it back now without her knowing something was off.