A dream. That was what it was. Nothing but an upsetting dream. There was no way my grandma had died, I’d made my first homecoming in years, come face-to-face with my ex, and had said ex outright refuse to sign our divorce papers. No way that had all happened within the same twenty-four hours.
That was the thought—the misguided hope—I awoke with the next morning. Of course it took all of three seconds for me to realize that none of that was a dream. Not even the part about me acknowledging just how much of a pull my ex still had over me. I should be immune to him. Calloused. Totally repulsed by his very presence. Instead, I had to pretend I was all of those things so he didn’t glom on to the knowledge that in some way, to some degree, some part of me was still drawn to some part of him.
That yellow folder was back to riding shotgun, its unsigned remains mocking me the entire drive to the funeral home. I wasn’t leaving until they were signed though. No matter what—whatever it took—I was leaving Farmington with those papers signed.
I’d had them drawn up a while ago, but I had been waiting for the “right” time to deliver them to Canaan. That the right time was when my grandma died seemed way messed up, as I reflected on it, but I supposed there was never going to be an ideal time to confront Canaan with divorce papers in hand.
The longer I thought about him, the more angry I became. Mainly because my thoughts kept taking tangents down forbidden trails such as The Years Had Been Good, or Hot Damn, Those Eyes, and Holy Hell, That Body.
He might have aged well, but he was still Canaan Ford, the person who had broken me in places I didn’t know a human could break.
When Marks & Bennett Funeral Home came into view, all thoughts of a forbidden nature finally fled as a different kind of knot roped around my stomach. It was the same funeral home that had taken care of the arrangements for my parents. It was the only funeral home in a fifty-mile radius. The sign had been updated and they’d re-landscaped the grounds, but it felt the same as I pulled into the parking lot. That feeling of gasping for air, as though I were drowning, rushed over me.
Death made me uneasy. There was nothing natural about it. There was nothing peaceful about it. Maybe for the deceased it was different, but for the living, death was not the end. It was only the beginning of a new nightmare.
My appointment was set for ten, and I was already fifteen minutes late, so I shouldn’t have been taking a few extra to try to compose myself and work up some courage. As I swung the car door open, my phone rang. When I saw the number, I let it go to voicemail. This was not the time to recap the past eighteen hours since I’d texted to let him know I’d made it safe and semi-sound into Farmington. That call would have to wait.
As I started toward the entrance, the front door swung open and a man in a dark suit started toward me. It took me a moment to realize that the man with the measured smile was Trace Bennett, who I’d gone to school with since kindergarten. His hairline had started to recede, his frame had filled out, and that hint of a prank that always used to twinkle in his eyes was gone. I supposed that was important when you went into the family business. Pulling the most legendary pranks in the county wasn’t a skillset that had much demand in the business of death.
“Maggie, I’m so sorry for your loss.” Trace stopped in front of me, his expression just the right amount of sympathetic without diving into overdone territory.
“Yeah, me too.” My teeth worked at my lip as I eyed the funeral home entrance behind him. I could do this.
“Betty was the best kind of person there is. We’re all better for knowing her.” Trace glanced back at the door I was still fixated on. “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone when we talked yesterday, what with you just finding out about Betty’s passing, but all of the funeral arrangements have already been made. Unless you’d like to look things over or add anything, everything’s taken care of.” Trace motioned at the building behind him. “But there’s no reason for you to do anything besides show up on the day of the actual funeral.”
The Missouri sun was already assaulting, and I wasn’t exactly at my best given the lack of sleep I’d gotten the past two nights. “The ceremony? The cemetery? The flowers?” I swallowed, unable to vocalize the rest of my list.
“Everything. It’s taken care of.”
My feet changed positions. “Who took care of it all?”
“Betty did. She took care of all of this years ago, before you’d even left Farmington.” Trace waved me over to a tree casting just enough shade I could fit into it. He appraised me like he was guesstimating how close I was to passing out. “The expenses, the arrangements, everything is all set.”
My mind was still reeling, despite the shade. “Is it normal for people to do that? Plan their own funerals?”
“For seniors, yes. A lot of them try to take care of most of it before their passing. Of course when it comes to unexpected deaths of younger—” Trace’s voice cut off. A clearing of his throat followed.
I’d been too young to plan my parents’ funeral. Grandma had taken care of all of the arrangements. Even in the midst of losing her only child and daughter-in-law, she’d planned the most beautiful funeral that surely ever could have been done. I remembered focusing on the flower wreathes propped in front of their caskets, counting the number of white roses in each one so I didn’t run to my mother’s casket and attempt to curl up beside her like I’d been wanting to do from the moment I walked in. I’d wanted to cuddle up beside her one last time. I’d wanted to feel the kind of comfort only one’s mother could bring.
Of course I didn’t. I stayed in my pew, counting white roses, trying to hold my five-year-old self together before I even knew what I was made of.
“What about letting friends and family know? Someone will have to let everyone know when the funeral is.” I started to write a list in my mind, making note of who could give me the numbers I didn’t have.
“That’s already been taken care of too. Truly, Maggie, there’s nothing you need to do besides show up.”
My emotions had been all over the place, so I wasn’t braced for the rush of relief that came. My knees wobbled enough that Trace’s arms came out, ready to catch me if I went down.
“I’m okay,” I said, repeating myself when his arms hovered at the ready. “When is it? The funeral?”
“Two weeks from Saturday.” Trace didn’t miss the confused look on my face that followed. “Betty wanted to be cremated. With cremations, there isn’t a rush to schedule the funeral in the same way there is a casket burial.” He closed his mouth, like he’d somehow said too much.
“But two and a half weeks?” I said, remembering how my parents’ funeral had followed less than a week after the accident.
“Betty had no shortage of friends and family. I don’t think she wanted anyone to have to stop what they were doing to attend a funeral. Plus, I think she wanted to give you some time to get used to the idea of her passing before having to attend another funeral.”
I toed a pebble on the asphalt. “She said that?”
“I inferred that. She was Betty Church. She didn’t do anything without thinking of those she loved first.”
I suddenly found myself wishing I’d kept my sunglasses on, because I didn’t want to cry in front of Trace Bennett. Surely most everyone he did business with cried in front of him, but I didn’t want to be one of them—the criers. My grandma deserved so much more than a wash of tears shed outside some funeral home.
“Okay, so you’ll call me if anything comes up? Or you need anything? Right?”
“Absolutely.” For a moment, I saw a shadow of the Trace I’d grown up with. It was gone almost as quickly, making me wonder how much we’d all changed in a few years.
“Thanks for everything, Trace. I appreciate it.”
He glanced back at the sign hanging above the door. “It’s what I do.”
“You’re good at it.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Don’t tell my dad. He’s been telling me since I was born I was destined for the family business. He keeps hearing I’m actually kinda good at it, he’s going to go all I-Told-You-So on me.”
“I won’t say a word. And if they ask me to fill out a comment card when this is all over, I’ll give you straight Fs.”
Trace’s carefully placed smile cracked into the one I remembered before I headed for my car. “It’s good to have you back, Maggie Ford. Don’t be such a stranger.”
When I glanced back, I saw he hadn’t realized his mistake. “It’s Maggie Church.”
Trace’s head shook. “I finally get used to calling you by a different last name, and you switch it up on me again.” He followed me to my car, wiping sweat from his forehead. “You two finally make it official after five years?”
My gaze wandered to the passenger seat as I climbed inside. “We’re as good as divorced.” Trace didn’t say anything, and just as he was closing the door behind me, my arm reached out to stop it. “Who’s calling everyone about the funeral?”
“Your husband”—he caught himself instantly—“I mean, Canaan. He called everyone.”
My head fell into the headrest. “Canaan.”
“I guess Betty and him worked that out a while ago.”
So Grandma had indeed kept in touch with him. I shouldn’t have been surprised. They’d been close and she’d welcomed him into the family, even though she might not have been keen on us getting married so young, regardless of me being pregnant. Grandma might have been born in the forties, but she had been a modern woman who didn’t believe in marrying a man just because he’d gotten you pregnant.
Setting aside this latest Canaan development, I forced a smile as I turned on the engine. “Thanks again, Trace. It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too.” That easy smile adjusted as he remembered the whole reason I was there in the first place. “Wish it was under different circumstances.”
Holding that smile, I closed the door and pulled out of the parking lot. I had no idea where I was going; I just knew I couldn’t head back to Grandma’s house. If I went hunting for Canaan to try forcing his signature, I didn’t trust I wouldn’t commit some crime when he refused with an “It’s not over” comment.
What the actual hell? It’s not over? Please, it was over the night I left him in the rearview. It was over the day I agreed to let him take me to Winter Formal our freshman year. It was over the night I let him kiss me that following summer. And it was definitely over the night I agreed to marry him after telling him I was carrying his child.
It’s not over.
If he told me that one more time, I would have to prepare for another funeral. Although that one I actually might not mind attending.
A drink. I needed one. Actually, I needed more like five, but one was a good start. There was only one place I knew of that served beer before noon. Since pretty much every business in Farmington was on the same stretch of road, it wasn’t even five minutes before I was whipping into the mostly empty lot of Diamond Bowl.
I’d spend countless hours of my tween years with friends at the one bowling alley in town, downing Mountain Dew and trying our hands at flirting with the opposite sex. Of course Canaan had never once stepped foot into Diamond Bowl. He was the town badass, even as a tween, and badasses, as a rule, didn’t step weathered-leather boots in bowling alleys.
Too bad I hadn’t fallen for Benjamin Reeves. I would have been better off wasting my teen years making out with him. Ben left town the summer he graduated for college. Ben was the kind of guy a girl could shed a few tears for and get over. Ben was safe.
Canaan was not like the Ben Reeveses of the world.
My skin was sizzling from the heat as I moved toward Diamond Bowl’s entrance, so the rush of air-conditioned air that hit me when I threw open the door practically sent me into shock.
Nothing had changed since the last time I’d visited as a freshman. Not even the neon-starred carpet that had been in need of repair back then. The sounds of balls breaking through pins, the banter of old men, and the hum of the old televisions playing soaps welcomed me.
But nostalgia would have to wait until after I’d marinated my liver in a couple pints of whatever beer I pointed at first. Marching toward the bar tucked into the back of the building, I ignored the call that came in on my phone again. This still wasn’t a good time to talk.
“Maggie Church back in Farmington? They keep preaching about the second coming, but I didn’t think it was coming so soon.”
I’d been distracted by ignoring the call, and I didn’t notice who was working behind the bar until it was too late. “Rachel?”
I wasn’t sure why I’d voiced it like a question. She looked pretty much the same, except her blazing red hair was cut to her shoulders instead of halfway down her back like it had been in school.
“You better not Rachel? me with that vague look again or else I will go back and tell Principal Walters that it was us who teepeed his house, not our rivals, Pond High.”
I found myself smiling at the memory. “Well, he shouldn’t have given us a truancy for going to the Zip Trip during lunch so I could buy some emergency ‘feminine products.’”
Rachel’s head fell back as she laughed. “Since feminine products aren’t considered an emergency, we had no reason to leave the grounds during school hours.”
“Yeah, then explain to me how the same douche-canoe can give a pass to the quarterback for leaving school grounds for a Snickers bar a week later.”
“Brian’s blood sugar was low, according to our esteemed principal.”
“That’s right. I forgot that in addition to being a total tool, Brian Meeks was a Type-One diabetic as well.”
Rachel’s eyes flashed. “I’ve got a fresh shipment of TP in the back closet. Old times?”
“Tempting, but I’ve been practicing being an adult.”
“Any luck with that?”
My nose crinkled as I slid onto one of the stools stationed around the counter. “Not much.”
“Yeah, me neither.” She waved at the bowling alley like that explained the rest. “Hey, I’m no good at these types of things, but I heard about your grandma and I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. No one ever had a bad thing to say about that lady, and the one person who did got his house teepeed the shit out of.”
I shifted on the stool. “Thanks. She was the best.”
Rachel’s hand found mine, and she gave it a good squeeze. Rachel and I had been friends growing up, time-tested ones. Since the only person I’d stayed in contact with was Grandma, I had no idea what Rachel had been up to for half a decade, but that ease of friendship seemed to settle right back into place.
“Okay, you are not here for condolences. You are here for a drink.” Rachel stepped back and ran her hand across the four handles behind her. They were all domestic, of course, but beggars and all.
“Just pour me one. They all taste the same.”
When I reached into my purse for my wallet, she lifted her finger at me. “You better not be thinking about paying for this here beer because this one’s on me. It’s not every day a long-lost friend walks into this joint.” Her shoulders dropped as she examined the sparsely populated bowling lanes, the few taken ones occupied by balding men with beer guts.
“I’m the one who left. It’s me who should be buying you a beer.”
She made a sound as she poured my beer. At least it wasn’t one of the light ones. “Here’s the thing though. My husband and I own the place, so I’m not really paying for your beer. I’m more just pouring it and giving it to you.” Rachel winked as she slid the beer in front of me.
“You’re married?” My eyes went wide. She’d been the type I imagined never marrying, content to have an open relationship with some foreigner who wrote music for a living. Kind of went the opposite direction on me.
She answered with a lifting of her left hand.
“To who?” I probed.
She grinned like she was in on a secret before lifting her eyes across the room to where a guy was working the bowling counter. “To Brian Meeks.” When she saw my eyes go even bigger, she added, “Former total tool.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that—”
“Yes, you did, because he was a dick back in high school. I felt the same way at the time.”
My gaze flickered back to the counter. “Your opinion of him obviously changed between then and now.”
Rachel’s eyes went soft for a moment. “A person can change.”
“From what I recall, Brian Meeks was in need of a total rehaul.” I took a drink of my beer before I could say anything else I shouldn’t.
She leaned into the counter and shrugged. “A person can change.”
I took another drink of the beer as my eyes lifted. “So I keep hearing.”
From Rachel’s face, I guessed she knew exactly what, or who, I was referring to. She didn’t push the topic though. Even though she might not have known the grittiest details that went into the cyclone that had been Canaan and Maggie, she knew enough about the destruction we’d left in our path.
“Catch me up on five years. Where have you been? What have you been up to?” Snagging another pint from the shelf, she poured another beer.
“I’ve been in Chicago ever since I left.”
She gave a low whistle. “That’s about as different as you can get from Farmington.”
“That’s why I loved it.”
“You loved it?”
“Why I love it,” I edited before continuing. “The first few years, I had to waitress full-time to make ends meet, but now I’m able to sell enough drawings to keep those same ends met.”
She clinked the freshly poured beer to mine then took a drink. Only in Farmington. “So you did it? You’re a real-life, big-time artist.”
“I don’t know about big time, but I’m real life. At least I think.” I glanced down at myself, like I was double-checking.
“Been up to anything else for five years? Besides painting shit?” Rachel waved her finger. “I didn’t mean that as in you paint like shit. I meant it as you painting stuff. Things. Shit.”
“I know. No worries. Being friends since the age of five comes with the ability to decipher when a person’s dishing an insult or a euphemism.”
Rachel grabbed her beer and came around the counter before sliding onto the stool beside me. “Only because we’re friends—the real kind who tell you when a pair of jeans give you a camel-toe—forget the five-year hiatus for a moment. I feel the need to tell you you’re looking kinda rough.”
Her eyes circled me, making mine follow. So yeah, maybe I was still in the same dress from yesterday and my hair hadn’t seen the business end of a brush in a couple of days, but I was a good three and a half rungs from “rough.”
“I know you and your grandma were close, so if you ever want to talk to a professional, I can get you some names. They might be whack-a-doodles in their own way and have a forged degree framed on their wall, but a friend and her husband visited one of the town shrinks last year for marital counseling, and I know I have his card around here somewhere.”
Reaching for a hair tie in my purse so I could tone down my apparent roughness, I asked, “Did they have a good experience?”
“They got a divorce.” Rachel tucked her leg beneath her as she twisted toward me. “But they’re both much happier divorced than married.”
“So the shrink they went to for marital counseling to save their marriage convinced them to get a divorce?” I squinted as I feigned deep contemplation. “I think I’ll pass on the offer. Besides, yes, I’m shocked and sad that Grandma’s gone, but part of the looking rough thing is due to the fact I slept in my car last night. All three hours I actually slept.” I pulled out my compact to powder my nose, unable to ignore the dark circles carved beneath my eyes. Dang. I did look rough.
“You slept in your car?” Rachel set her beer down before her hands cupped my shoulders. “I thought you were a real-life artist, not one of those starving varieties. There are motels in town, cheap ones, not to mention why didn’t you just sleep in your grandma’s house . . .” She bit the inside of her cheek. “And never mind. I get it now. She died there.”
I gave up on the idea of powdering my face after the first few dabs. It only made me look more tired. “It’s silly,” I said as I snapped the compact closed. “I’ll get over it, but I just needed a night to wrap my head around it all.”
Rachel pulled me into a hug like it was the most natural thing in the world. She still wore the same perfume, something fruity and fun, and she gave a hug exactly the way she used to—like a hug was the cure to most everything. I felt myself melting into her, my own arms finding their way around her back and holding on for dear life.
“You’re welcome to stay at our place. We have an extra bedroom Brian’s little brother sometimes stays in when he and his parents get in a fight. The sheets are clean from his last visit, and the room has been deodorized.” Rachel muttered something about smelly teenage boys as she patted my back.
“You’re the best for offering, but I need to stay at Grandma’s tonight. I can’t stay away forever, and every day I avoid it will only make it worse.” I pinched my cheeks in an effort to put some color into them so I looked less like a walking corpse.
“Want me to stay with you the first couple of nights? For moral support?” When I glanced in Brian’s direction, she waved it off. “Brian can survive two nights without me. That’s what his right hand and the bottle of lotion I keep tucked in his nightstand is for.”
I found myself laughing as I reached for my beer. “I’ll be okay, but thank you. Besides, just think about the crap a guy like Brain would take if he strutted around town with one soft, moisturized hand.”
Rachel snickered, weaving back behind the counter. “You make a point.” Glancing around like she was checking for the police, she reached for something under the counter. “I keep this for emergencies.” She revealed a couple of shot glasses and a bottle of Jager.
“Emergencies?” I glanced around the bowling alley. There were a handful of fashion offenses and the odor lingering in the air was a definite crime, but I wouldn’t classify any of it as an emergency.
Rachel poured the shots, but instead of keeping one for herself, she slid both my way. “I’m about to breech a volatile subject.”
Her expression had me reaching for the first shot.
“Have you seen him?”
She didn’t need to say anything else. I knew exactly who she was talking about.
I downed the shot before answering. I hadn’t done a shot of Jager since the spring of our senior year, before I found out I was pregnant. “I’ve seen him.” Lifting the second shot, I conjured up a smile. “Why do you think I’m drinking at eleven in the morning?”