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

by C. C. Hunter

  He’d found out that his stepfather was cheating on his mom. When he told his mom, she’d admitted that she knew. When Hayden insisted that she needed to leave him, they’d argued. Hayden had left all pissed off. He’d been so angry he wasn’t paying attention and he hit a light pole.

  Feeling like a third wheel and realizing that Dad will be home soon, I grab the notepad from my purse and write down my number. I hand it to Hayden’s mom. “Here’s my number, in case . . .” I don’t finish that sentence. But she knows what I was going to say. I know what I was going to say.

  I go to my car. It’s dark and it’s raining. I sit there for several long minutes, listening to the drops splatter on my windshield. “Hayden?” I say his name and beg him to show up. He doesn’t. I remember that he tried to hug me and I didn’t let him. Maybe I should have taken that hug.

  While my soul is welted with the pain lodged in my chest, I don’t cry. I just sit there, trying to breathe around the hurt. I think about Hayden. About Annie.

  Finally, I realize I have to go home, or Dad will arrive before me and he’ll freak.

  • • •

  Dad arrives five minutes after I do. I use my period to excuse myself and start for the stairs.

  “You need any medicine?”

  “No.”

  “Did you eat dinner?”

  “No.”

  I take another step.

  “Riley?” He moves in and hugs me. Burying my face in his shoulder, I breathe in, wanting to savor the daddy scent. The I’m-your-hero aroma that has gotten me through so many tough times in my life.

  But all I smell is cigarette smoke. Did he go to a bar? Did he drink?

  I step out of his embrace and look at him.

  His eyes aren’t bloodshot. I don’t smell alcohol, but the smoke . . .

  “I love you,” he says.

  “Prove it,” I counter. “Don’t ever take another drink.” The question about how cigarette smoke got on his clothes sits on the tip of my tongue. But I’m out of oomph. I simply can’t argue with him right now. So I turn away and move upstairs.

  I push the easel to the side, yank my bra off under my shirt, and I crawl in bed. Pumpkin joins me. I don’t sleep. I stare at my phone and pray it doesn’t ring. Pray I don’t get the call telling me that Hayden’s gone.

  • • •

  “You going to sleep forever?”

  I open my eyes. I don’t know what time it is, or have any idea of when I fell asleep, but I’m sharing the pillow with Hayden. That is, if it’s not a dream.

  I blink and clear the cobwebs from my mind. I still see him. Hayden. Hayden who’s smiling, Hayden whose color is so much better. Hayden the boy I love. I go to touch his face, then I hesitate, afraid I’ll find him cold.

  He isn’t. Which means he’s still alive.

  I smile. “You’re better.”

  “Yeah. The antibiotics worked.”

  I kiss him. He kisses me back. Then I pull away, look at him, and laugh. I laugh until I’m crying. And I cry until I start laughing again. Hayden just stares at me, confused.

  “Is this PMS?” He motions to the box of tampons on my bedside table.

  “Maybe,” I say.

  “Okay. I can live with it.”

  We start kissing again. Our bodies fit together. His hard chest to my breasts. His pelvis to mine. The only thing separating us is the cotton of our clothes. I feel him more than before, and it feels so good. His hand comes around my waist and eases up under the old shirt to my bare back. His touch is as soft as a brush of a butterfly wing, but it makes me want . . . I want. I want. I want.

  Hayden pulls away. We’re both out of breath. I ache to keep going, but I know and he knows we shouldn’t. It’s one thing to dance close to the fire. It’s another to dive into it. When it happens, and I know it will, Hayden needs to be . . . all here.

  He still leans in and kisses me on my forehead. “You saved my life, Riley Smith. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  “No,” I say.

  He brushes my hair off my cheek. His blue eyes meet mine. “That we are bonded. Forever. We have to stay together for life. It’s the rules.”

  “Really?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it’s a Native American custom.”

  “I didn’t know you’re Native American.”

  “I’m not, but it still counts.”

  He lifts his head up and looks at the easel. “So. Back to my earlier question. You know how to paint?”

  “I don’t, really. I can draw, and last year I did some watercolor paintings in art class, but these are oil paints.”

  “Knowing you, you can do it.”

  “Maybe.” I tell him about the new memory of Mom and buying the supplies. About finding Mom’s easel.

  “Then it’s meant to be. It’s destiny.”

  “I hope.” I lay there, just savoring this time. Savoring my Hayden time. I’m pretty sure he’s my destiny.

  “You going to school today?” he asks.

  “Crap!” I sit up. “What time is it?”

  “Six thirty.”

  “I have to take a shower.” I pop up and off the bed.

  “How about I join you?” His tone is all tease, and I want to laugh.

  Instead, I give him a playful evil eye.

  He grins. “A guy’s gotta try.” He watches me pick up my phone. “I do need to tell you something.”

  “What?” I read the text I missed from Hayden’s mother saying he’s doing so much better, but I don’t say anything about it, unsure how Hayden would feel about her texting me. Then I move to my closet to find clothes.

  “I think I might have a way for you to reach Annie’s uncle.”

  I stop what I’m doing and face him. Since I’ve woken up, I haven’t let myself think about Annie or my responsibility to help her. But at the mere mention of her name, it’s back.

  “How?”

  • • •

  I text Kelsey that I’m waiting outside and I watch her rush out her door.

  It’s a wet, gray, and gloomy day, but I’m opting for optimism and not letting the weather weigh me down. I had a wonderful morning with Hayden. Hayden who’s still alive, Hayden who gave me another way to possibly contact Ramon. Another positive is that Dad was up and dressed when I came down, which is a good indication that he didn’t stay up late drinking. Yup. Great day.

  Kelsey gets in my front seat.

  I recall how upset she was yesterday. “How are things?

  “Mom’s tossing her cookies. I think I’m skipping motherhood. In fact, I think I might be the old maid with a dozen cats and a purple vibrator that I’ll name Big Boy.

  I laugh, but we both know she’s joking to cover up her hurt. “Do you need to stay with her?”

  “No, she’s eating crackers now. Told me to go to school.”

  I put the car in reverse. “So she hasn’t decided anything?”

  “No. I told her to make an appointment to see an obstetrician. At least find out how far along she is, so she might be able to guess whose baby it is.”

  “Will she?” I start backing out of the driveway. In my rearview mirror, I see Jacob standing by his truck. His please-don’t-reject-me puppy-dog eyes are already on me.

  “Probably not.” Kelsey drops her backpack on the floorboard. “I’ll have to do it when I get home.”

  I look at Kelsey and try to ignore Jacob. “Maybe if you stopped being the adult, she’d have to step up to the plate.”

  “Yeah,” she says as if it’s a brilliant idea, and then, “Would never work.”

  I frown. “Sorry, pretty lame advice, huh? I should know, since I’m dealing with my dad.”

  She leans down and looks back at her house as if worried. “She did bring up the word adoption. Not that I like that, either.” She sits back up. “Maybe we should teach them both a lesson. Let’s go get drunk and screw a bunch of different guys. It might even be fun.”

  I look at her, and we both laugh again.


  A few blocks from school, I force myself to ask. “Do you know Selina Rodgers?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  Here comes another lie. The fact that they roll off my tongue so easily these days feels wrong.

  “I found a notebook with her name in it yesterday and I thought I’d return it.” Hayden had described her, but his description could be half the girls in school.

  “Yeah. She has long dark hair. Real quiet. Sort of keeps to herself, but kind of has a chip on her shoulder.”

  So sort of like you, I think. Not that Kelsey would ever admit to the chip.

  Kelsey twists her Black Lives Matter bracelet. “I think she has math with you. But be careful. Some people say she’s part of a gang. I don’t know if it’s true, but she does live in a bad part of town in an apartment that everyone knows the Free Bloods hang out in.”

  “I don’t remember a girl named Selina in my math class?”

  “They call her See.”

  “Oh. Thanks. I know who she is.” Now I just have to figure out what lies to throw at her in the hopes of getting her to help me.

  Chapter Twelve

  I arrive five minutes early for math and wait outside the door, looking for Selina, or See. I’m pretty sure she’s one who always gets there early.

  I’m looking left and right to find her in the crowd of oncoming hall traffic. Then I see her. Our gazes meet, and she quickly looks away. Great. This isn’t going to be easy.

  I push off the hallway wall and start toward her. “Hey,” I say.

  She doesn’t exactly appear pissed that I spoke to her, but she definitely has a miffed look going.

  “Can I talk to you a minute?”

  “About what?” she asks.

  I move away from the crowd, hoping she’ll follow. She does. I go to start my spiel and suddenly I question it and start doing a mental rewrite.

  “Uh, you know Carter, right?”

  “Yeah.” Her miffed look lessens.

  Hayden said they’d kind of become friends.

  “We worked on a science project together a few weeks before his accident. Why?”

  “Well, he told me that you . . . That your older brother is part of the Free Bloods.”

  She frowns. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but I don’t even see my brother.”

  “But . . .”

  “Wait.” She grips her book closer. “Carter told you? Is he okay now? Did he wake up.” She sounds like she cares.

  “No. Not yet. We know each other from summer camp. It was before his accident. Look, I know it’s asking a lot, but I need to speak to someone from the gang. I wanted to just give you my phone number and—”

  She cuts me a look of disgust. “There are easier ways to score drugs.”

  “No. I don’t . . . I’m not looking for drugs. It’s a personal thing. I need to talk to Ramon Velez.”

  “You know he’s the gang’s leader?”

  I nod.

  “Are you stupid? You don’t want to get mixed up with them. My twin brother died because of that gang.”

  And that explains why she doesn’t see much of her older brother anymore. “Look, I’m not trying to get mixed up with them. I’m actually . . .”

  “What?” she asks.

  I decide to go with a partial truth. “There’s a little girl who is related to Ramon Velez. She’s dying. She needs someone to donate a piece of their liver to her.”

  Her eyes round. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Yeah, I do. I swear it’s true.” Honesty gives my words a punch that I hope she hears. But her expression says she doesn’t. I hold out the piece of paper with my number that I’d already written up.

  She hesitates. “Fine. I don’t see my brother, but he has a friend that comes by to check on my mom every now and then. I know he talks to him. I’ll give it to him, but I can’t guarantee that it’ll ever get to Ramon.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  She looks down at the paper, then back up. “Let’s say it does get to him. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to get involved with them?”

  “I’m not getting involved. I just need to talk to Ramon.”

  • • •

  After math, I hide out in the bathroom and text Kelsey that I’m running a bit late so she can go ahead and get lunch. My goal is to go through the line alone so I can have a few words with the crazy lunch lady if she’s there.

  I enter the lunchroom and I’m so hungry from not eating yesterday, it actually smells good.

  I head for the line. Crazy Lunch Lady isn’t there. I ask the woman behind the counter if she knows what happened to yesterday’s lunch lady. She claims the woman is still off on family leave, but came in one day to help out.

  Great. Just how long is she going to be on family leave?

  I grab my cardboard pizza and am heading to Kelsey in the back when I’m smacked in the face with a bread roll, which drops on top of my pizza. Laughter echoes. I look around for the guilty person, but there’s really no point. It’s not like I’m going ape-shit on anyone’s ass.

  I’m the one who hates conflict.

  Then I see the table that’s laughing the hardest. It’s Jamie, Jacob’s ex, who has it out for me, and her minions. Candace, Jamie’s friend, waves at me. Yeah, she’s the one who picked on me the first week of school and caused a scuffle that led to me getting a black eye.

  I don’t know what happens, but suddenly the idea of going ape-shit on someone is sounding better and better. I square my shoulders and head straight to her table.

  I should be afraid. I should be smarter and turn around. But all I feel is anger.

  I stop right behind Candace, who is looking over her shoulder at me, sneering. “Did you give her the book?” Jamie asks.

  So that’s who put the book in my locker? I feel my face get hotter. “I think you lost this.” I hold up the roll and then drop it. It plops in her bowl of chicken soup.

  Okay, I know this doesn’t qualify as going ape-shit on anyone, but at least I’m not slinking away. I’m turning to leave when I hear, “Freak. Does your dad get it on with the dead women in his funeral home?”

  I swing around. Everyone at the table goes silent. Everyone’s holding their breath to see what I’ll do.

  Honestly, I’m kind of waiting too.

  Oh, I know what I want to do. I want to hit her. I’ve never ever wanted to hit anyone before. Until now. But my gut says that’s what she wants. I swallow air and try to roll back my emotions. To reevaluate. Refrain from acting. Rethink my position.

  I’m not going to hit her. Not going to give her what she wants. But I’m not just walking away, either. I’m going to outsmart her. I lean down, get close to her ear, just to show her I’m not afraid. Then I whisper, “Disrespecting the dead is dangerous. Be careful.” I’m impressed at the spookiness level in my tone. “Be very, very careful.”

  She laughs, but when I pull back I see it in her eyes. Fear. I think I even smell it on her. Then again, that might just be her chicken soup.

  Yeah, I know I’ve probably upped my freak level, but with only three months left of school, it might be worth it.

  “What did she say?” I hear Jamie ask as I walk away. Then I hear Candace yelp. I look back and see Mr. Brooks standing there. His hand is on the bottom of Candace’s soda cup, which she’s holding in front of her face. And soda is dripping from her cheeks.

  “Your father is a very nice man,” Mr. Brooks says. “She shouldn’t say that about him.”

  He must have tapped it just as she put it to her lips.

  It’s really good to have friends, but I believe he did it for Dad as much as me. Everybody likes my dad.

  Then I see Candace’s gaze shoot to me. If looks could kill, I’d be at least two feet under.

  “You did that!” Her eyes widen with fear.

  “No, she didn’t,” someone at a nearby table says. “You’re just a bully and a klutz.”

  I continue moving toward Kelsey, who�
�s actually standing up as if she’s prepared to kick ass and ask questions later. Yeah, it’s really nice to have friends.

  As I get closer, I see she’s smiling ear to ear as if she’s proud of me. And so am I.

  “What did you say to her?” Kelsey asks.

  “That she should be careful,” I half lie and set my tray down, drop in the seat, pick up my pizza, and start eating. I feel people watching me, like the show’s not over. I’m only partly annoyed by it. There’s something about standing up for yourself that feels right. That gives a girl some power.

  More laughter erupts from Jamie’s table. I glance that way and I see Mr. Brooks is still there. Then I see Candace shoot up and hotfoot it toward the exit. Mr. Brooks moves behind her and gives her a little shove. She trips.

  Laughter erupts. I just keep eating. But when he looks at me, I give a small shake of my head to say enough. He seems to get it, because he fades.

  • • •

  I’m at my locker getting my books when I feel my phone vibrating in my back pocket. Usually all I get in the way of texts while I’m at school is junk mail. But bam, I remember I’ve given my number out to two people whom I’m waiting to call me: Crazy Lunch Lady and a gang leader.

  I yank it out of my back pocket. A number is on my screen. I don’t recognize it. I swipe it to read the text.

  It’s short. Real short.

  It’s going to be okay.

  “What’s going to be okay?” I ask and stare at my phone. This has to be from the lunch lady, doesn’t it?

  I start to text her back, but my finger stops above my phone. I’m not sure what to write. I feel my pulse race with anticipation of getting answers. I have so many questions.

  Suddenly, I don’t want to just text her. I want to talk to her. I head for the bathroom, but there are too many people in there. I decide to make a run to my car.

  I step out of the school. It’s still a gloomy day. The sky is dark gray, and I hear thunder in the distance. Lightning flashes across the sky. I can almost feel the electricity in the air from the upcoming storm.

  I barely get to the parking lot before it starts sprinkling. I duck my head and hurry. I’m still only halfway to my Mustang when it starts pouring. In fact it’s raining so hard it stings my skin. I almost turn around and race back to the school, but instead I pull my keys out and make a mad dash through the parking lot to my car.