Ordinary is Perfect

by D. Jackson Leigh

  Gabe glared at Doc Simmons. “Why didn’t you say it was an aneurysm? I know what that is.”

  He cleared his throat. “My apologies. When the paramedics arrived, her left pupil was completely dilated, and her heart wasn’t beating. They still ran through the complete protocol for resuscitation but were unable to restart her heart.”

  Gabe’s slender frame went still, then began to tremble against Catherine’s side. “No,” Gabe whispered.

  ***

  Autumn snapped her laptop into the docking station.

  Prioritize.

  Advertise for an administrative assistant Jay can train as soon as possible. Draw up a list of requirements for office space and have Jay line up a Realtor. Put out feelers in the network of social media marketing specialists for an associate since Jay wasn’t sticking around.

  She emailed a few friends in the business and several professors she knew kept in touch with former students to help circulate word of her openings. Her phone began to ring just as she hit Send for the final time. She glanced at her phone. Her private line, not her business line, was ringing, but she didn’t recognize the number calling her.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello. This is Sheriff Ed Cofy of Elijah County. I’m trying to reach Ms. Autumn Annise Swan.”

  Autumn’s mind shuffled through a million possible reasons a sheriff from Elijah would be calling her. A millisecond produced the only logical explanation—her parents were visiting where her dad grew up and had been busted for carrying drugs. She opened a browser and googled office space available in Decatur. Her mind functioned best when required to multitask.

  “Is this Ms. Swan?” Sheriff Coby asked when she didn’t immediately respond.

  Autumn sighed. “Yes. This is Autumn Swan. Are you calling about my parents?” She couldn’t deal with them right now. Her business was exploding with new clients. She clicked on the first of the items her search had brought up. Nope. Those new buildings with residential space above the floors with retail and office space had to be more expensive. She was looking for something cheaper.

  “No, ma’am. I’m calling about your cousin, Becki Swan.”

  “A…Becki?” Autumn’s mind raced through memories of her favorite cousin who had lived with Grandma Swan. Where Autumn had spent countless summers until she graduated early and left home for college. “Is Becki in some kind of trouble, Sheriff?” Why else would a sheriff be calling?

  “I’m very sorry to have to give you this news, but your cousin Becki passed away last night. She listed you as her next of kin.”

  Autumn was so stunned, her mind blanked. “Me?” No. This had to be a mistake. Yes. A mistake. Think. Think. “But…wait…yes. Becki had a brother. Gabe. Um, Gabriel Swan.”

  “Did you know Gabe well, Ms. Swan?”

  “Not really. He was older. I think he was two years older than Becki, six years older than me. I met him once. He was about to go off to boot camp. That’s when Becki came to live with Grandma Swan. Because he didn’t want to leave her with their parents. They’re kind of…well, trashy. Becki talked about him a lot, though.”

  “He was killed during his second tour in Afghanistan.”

  “Oh.” A series of rapping noises in Jay’s familiar pattern was a welcome interruption. “Can you hold just a second, Sheriff?” She hurried to the door and let Jay inside, pointed to the phone, pinched her nose to indicate his pungent smell, and pointed toward the bathroom facilities. He dropped his gym bag, then raised his arm and used a handful of mail to fan more odiferous man sweat her way. Finally, he handed her the mail and followed her direction. She slapped at him with the mail, then checked it for any nasty sweat droplets. “Sorry. I had to let my assistant in. We’re swamped with work today.”

  “I understand. I’ve blindsided you with this news. Becki has known about her condition for several weeks and promised she was going to contact you.”

  “It sounds like you were friends.” She absently set the mail on the table and began to separate personal bills from business mail.

  “Yes, ma’am. We were.”

  She paused, realizing that sorting the mail wouldn’t organize what was ahead for her. “I’m sorry. I’m just stunned and at a loss for what I need to do.”

  “That’s why I asked her lawyer to let me call you. He knows the legal aspects of her will, but Becki and I talked a lot over the past few weeks. She asked me to try and help you and Catherine understand some things.”

  “Catherine?”

  “Her neighbor. I can explain everything—well, maybe not everything, but a lot—when you get here. What I can tell you now is that Becki had already made and paid for her own funeral arrangements. You don’t have to worry about that. The when and where is up to you as her next of kin.”

  “I…I need to digest all this and reschedule some appointments.” Damn, damn. Would her clients wait until she returned, or would they jump to the next social-media marketer who showed results? God. What kind of person had she become, worrying about business appointments when the cousin who’d been like a big sister to her had died? “Can I let you know when I plan to arrive?”

  “Sure. When you call, I’ll tell Becki’s lawyer so he can hold some time open to discuss her will and distribution of her assets.”

  She wrote his number on an envelope at the top of the unsorted heap of mail, then picked it up to fan herself. Her brain must be overheating. She ended the call, then realized the sun had inched upward and was glaring through the balcony doors so hot she thought the envelope in her hand would combust. She looked at the number she’d scribbled at the bottom, but her eyes were drawn to her address written in neat cursive, then to the return address in the corner. Becki Swan. She threw the letter down, halfway across the table, and stared at it. The back of her neck tingled as the short hairs there rose and chill bumps raced down her arms. It was like she was speaking to Autumn from beyond.

  “Paper cut?”

  Autumn screamed and jumped up so fast, her chair slammed back into Jay’s crotch, and he doubled over.

  He groaned and clutched himself with both hands. “Jesus. I think you just cut John Henry in half.”

  “For real? I’m having a major crisis here, and you’re worried about”—she gestured toward his hips—“about your weenie?” She stomped over to the kitchen area and yanked open the cabinet that held her rarely served hard liquor.

  Jay hovered behind her, apparently cured by his curiosity. “What are you doing?”

  She began pulling bottles down from the shelf. Okay, the liquor was technically hard, but probably not by some standards. She sorted through peppermint schnapps, cherry vodka, apple Crown Royal, butterscotch schnapps, peach brandy, orange brandy, and, finally, tequila. “José. Just the guy I was looking for.”

  Jay backed up when she took her tequila to a different cabinet and grabbed a shot glass proclaiming Girls Want to Have Fun in pink. She filled the small glass and knocked back the tequila in one gulp. Autumn closed her eyes and sucked in a breath as the alcohol burned its way down her throat and swelled her sinuses. When she opened her eyes, Jay was staring at her, his hands on his hips.

  “Obviously, something has happened while I was at exercise class, or maybe while I was making myself fresh again. And if you don’t spill right now what has you hanging with José in the middle of the day, I’m going out to have a mocha latte and tell that cute barista you’re crushing on her.”

  Autumn squinted at him in what she hoped was her meanest glare, then pulled a second shot glass down for him. She took her bottle of tequila and shot glass back to the dining table. Jay made an impatient noise and grabbed the glass she’d left on the counter. She waited while he went back to the liquor cabinet to retrieve the apple-flavored Crown Royal. He never drank tequila, but he’d also never told her what happened in Key West that turned him against it.

  Jay settled across from her, filled his glass, and held it up. Autumn silently refilled hers, then clinked it against his before t
hey both downed their shots in a ritual that had preceded many of their serious talks.

  Autumn jerked her head to the side and clenched her teeth at the liquor’s bite, then sucked in a breath to enhance its burn. She opened her mouth, but only a wheeze came out, so she coughed to loosen her vocal cords. “I’ve booked meetings with four potential new clients next week, and I have a fifth who wants to get back with me on a day and time,” she said.

  Jay nodded. “That’s good. Do you want me to start working up backgrounds on them?”

  “That would be great, because I’m going to need a lot of help on these.”

  Jay hunched over the table to clasp her forearm. “Is that what this is about? You’re getting cold feet. Autumn, you are the most talented marketer I know. In fact, you’re the only one I know who stays up almost twenty-four seven, scheduling tweets and posts, and mining data to get the most page views for your clients.”

  “Are you kidding? This Superwoman of Social Media does not get cold feet.” She tried to muster a smile but was probably failing miserably. “It’s just…well…something else has come up.”

  Jay’s expression hardened, and he sat back in his chair, his comforting hand sliding away from her arm. “You’re too busy to keep your promise to Evan and the Pride committee, but not too busy for ‘something else that’s come up’?” He folded his arms over his chest and mimicked her voice. “This is AA Swan Inc.’s chance to break out from the pack. During the next few weeks, nothing is more important than work.” His impersonation complete, he poured himself another shot of apple Crown. “Or maybe you really meant to say that nothing is more important than you.”

  Autumn couldn’t look at him. She had let him and Evan down after making a promise, just like she’d let Becki down by never returning her letters or phone calls.

  When she didn’t reply, Jay slammed back the shot he’d poured and thumped the glass down on the table. “My asshole of a father used to say there were no acceptable excuses in life but death and taxes. Since I open your mail every day, I know you aren’t being audited by the IRS. That leaves—”

  “Becki died. My cousin. The one who was like a sister to me.” Autumn was surprised when her throat tightened and her eyes filled as she looked up.

  Jay’s hand went to his mouth. “Oh, Autumn. I’m such an ass.” He slid from his chair and knelt by hers, taking her hand. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

  When Jay rose and held out his arms, the scared child she hadn’t realized still hid inside stepped into his embrace and sobbed into the soft fabric of his T-shirt. Jay didn’t offer trite words of comfort. He held her close, stroked her back, and let her cry.

  Her cloudburst of emotion seemed to blow over after a few minutes, and Autumn dried her cheeks on Jay’s shirt. “Sorry,” she said, ridiculously laughing at the horrified expression on his face as she pulled up his shirttail and used it to wipe her nose. “Take it off and I’ll throw it in the washer.” She held it away from his body as he pulled it over his head. “Go get your stinky gym stuff and throw it in, too.” She opened the folding doors that hid the alcove containing her washer and dryer, started the washer, and tossed in the snotty T-shirt. She left the lid up for Jay, switched on the espresso machine, and gathered the liquor to return to the cabinet.

  She was washing the glasses they’d used when Jay rested his hand on her shoulder. “Stop. I know this is how you normally cope with problems, but this is not about work. This is about family, and you have to deal with it.” He took the shot glasses from Autumn after she rinsed them, placed them on a dish towel to dry, and led her back to the table. They sat, and he waited.

  “Elijah County. That’s where she lives…lived. The sheriff, who apparently was also Becki’s friend, called. She listed me as her next of kin.”

  “So, you have to make the funeral arrangements? Do you know if she had life insurance? I’ve heard funerals can be pretty expensive.”

  “No. The sheriff said she’d made the arrangements and paid for them already. She wanted to be cremated. I just have to set the time and place for the memorial service.”

  “Then there’s no rush, right?”

  “Wrong. There are other things that need to be decided…taken care of. I have to be present at the reading of Becki’s will and probably have to assume responsibility for some of her assets. She inherited our grandmother’s house and property.” Autumn shifted and stared at the envelope in the middle of the table. “The sheriff said Becki knew she was ill, and he thought she’d gotten in touch with me before now.”

  Jay followed her gaze. “That letter. It’s from her?”

  Autumn nodded.

  His eyes darted between her and the letter. “That’s so…I don’t know…weird.” Jay sounded like one of those YouTube ghost hunters speaking in a hushed tone, and he stared at the letter as if it might levitate. “Are you going to read it?” He scanned the room, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “She might be here, waiting to see your reaction.” He visibly shuddered. “I think I felt a chill. They say a room gets cold when a ghost is near.”

  Enough. “You’re sitting right under the air-conditioning vent.” She stretched over the table to snag the letter. “Of course I’m going to read it.” Her bravado, however, wavered once it was in her hands. She ran her fingertip over her name, the letters flowing like brushstrokes. Becki had always wanted to be an artist, and Autumn wondered if she’d fulfilled that dream.

  Jay held out her letter opener. She sat again and took it. She slid it into place, then stopped. She chewed her bottom lip. She was about to open a door she’d closed almost ten years ago. What else could she do? She willed her hands to stop trembling. Just rip the Band-Aid off quick. She braced herself for the guilt she feared would pour out and drown her, then slit the envelope open in one quick stroke.

  ***

  Catherine froze as a sharp pain shot from her shoulder up the right side of her neck. She carefully opened her left eye against the bright sunlight thankfully muted by a coating of winter grime on the window opposite her bed. Her right eyelids seemed to be stuck together and took a half second longer to part. She rubbed with her fingers to remove the tiny crusts of sleep clinging to her lashes and the corner of her eye, then stopped when her mother’s voice popped into her head. Don’t rub your eyes, Catherine, or you’ll have wrinkles when you get older.

  “Fuck. Everybody gets wrinkles.” She tried to suck back the words, though softly muttered, as soon as they left her mouth. She released the breath she was holding when Gabe’s lanky five-foot body didn’t stir. No wonder Catherine’s neck was stiff. Gabe’s back was pressed against Catherine’s left side, her head resting on Catherine’s shoulder, and Elvis was snugged against Gabe’s front, effectively pinning Catherine’s arm between them.

  Day was dawning by the time they’d climbed out of the truck at Catherine’s house. They put Gabe’s duffel in the room where she always slept when she stayed overnight at Catherine’s—which was any time Becki needed to be out of town or Catherine and Gabe planned a sunrise fishing expedition. But Gabe’s composure had broken, and she had thrown herself into Catherine’s arms and sobbed when Catherine had suggested she climb into the bed for a few hours of sleep. Catherine had carried her into the master bedroom, taken both their shoes off, and lay on top of the covers. When Gabe quieted, Elvis followed Catherine’s silent signals to drag over the fluffy sherpa blanket folded in her reading chair. She tucked it around them both, and Elvis jumped onto the bed to complete a protective cocoon around Gabe.

  Catherine rotated her head and right shoulder to loosen her neck, then slowly, carefully slipped her left arm free while she substituted a pillow for her shoulder. Elvis opened his eyes, and the end of his tail thumped lightly against the bed. She glanced at the clock on the bedside table, surprised to see that she’d slept for three dreamless hours.

  She looked down into his intelligent eyes. An old soul gazed back at her. Maybe she was crazy for thinking that, but there’d always been s
omething extraordinary about him. She held her finger to her lips, and he sighed, then closed his eyes as she carefully crawled off the bed. She paused at the door. Even as Gabe slept, her young face was tight with tension. Her mouth curved downward in an uncertain pout, and her brow drew together and twitched every few seconds.

  The ever-present ball of self-doubt grew larger in Catherine’s stomach. More than five years out of the army, and she still couldn’t manage her own trauma. How in the world would she be able to face Gabe’s?

  ***

  Autumn and Jay stared for a few seconds at the neatly folded letter that dropped onto the table before Autumn picked it up and unfolded the pages.

  Dear Autumn,

  How do I begin?

  I guess I should say first that, though we are cousins, I have always loved you like the sister my parents never gave me. I understood, more than you knew, why you withdrew from our summers together. While you thought you needed to harden yourself to go out into the world, Grandma and I wished every day that you’d chosen instead to let us be your safe harbor. We always loved you, and who you would come to love didn’t change that fact. Yes. I think we knew before you did that women would be the ones to hold your heart.

  I feel that I failed you because you never trusted that I’d keep your deepest secret safe. Now I have to ask that you not fail me in what I’m about to entrust to you—the one thing I treasure most in my life.

  I’ve been diagnosed with a brain tumor and scheduled for surgery in three weeks, but it’s risky. If I survive, I might not be competent to make legal decisions. I won’t go into detail now, but I need to know someone will protect me and mine from my parents if I’m incapacitated or worse. You are the one person who would understand, the only person I trust to protect my substantial assets and nurture my most significant accomplishment.

  My phone number hasn’t changed. My email is reswan@gmail.com. If you don’t call or email, I’m going to show up on your doorstep and refuse to leave until you talk to me. You know how stubborn I can be. (I’m smiling.)