by P. Dangelico
“Dan Peterson. Thank you so much for bringing Amber,” Dan, ever the gentleman, says with an outstretched hand.
“Ethan Vaughn.” The men shake hands. “No need to thank me.” Ethan tightens his grip on my shoulder again.
“You need to sign off so they can send the body to the funeral home,” I tell Eileen in a flat voice I barely recognize.
“I was thinking to send her to Long Island. Easier to make arrangement––”
Her words ignite a fire in my chest. “She left specific instructions. She is NOT going to Long Island because it’s easier for you.”
“Alright, alright ladies. No need to argue. If she left instructions that she wanted to be sent to her old place then so be it––”
“But Dan––” my mother whines, cutting Dan off.
“Honey––seems only right to follow her wishes.”
On Dan’s insistence, Eileen pouts and pouts, and eventually acquiesces.
“No use in waiting until Friday. Everyone she knows is dead. Let’s do it as soon as possible.” With that I start walking away. I hear Ethan giving Dan his number and telling him to call if he needs help with anything.
When he catches up to me, he grabs me by the shoulders and turns me. His face inches from mine, his shrewd eyes dart all over my face––assessing my state of mind no doubt. I stare back with total apathy in my eyes. His mouth tightens and the next thing I know I’m wrapped up in a big hug, his arms steel bands around me, my face buried in his neck and his scent filling my lungs.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything,” he murmurs. “I’ll take care of everything…I’ll take care of you.”
No. No, I don’t want him to take care of anything––especially not me. He can’t be this good to me. I’m already so deep in love I’m suffocating under the weight of it.
I pry myself from his firm grip, from his comfort, and look up into his face. “I don’t want you to do anything. Everything’s been taken care of anyway. My grandmother made all the arrangements.”
I don’t wait to see what his face tells me. I turn and walk to the parking lot.
After a long, drawn-out conversation I convince Camilla and her parents not to attend. I want this to be over as quickly as possible and without fanfare. Justin puts up a fuss but I manage him deftly as well. There’s only one person that I can’t manage to dissuade, and that’s Ethan.
“There’s no point in you coming. Fredo will drive me to New Jersey. Don’t you have a ton of work to do?”
The intense vibes scalding the back of my neck gets my attention. I turn, holding the black dress I retrieved from the closet and find him wearing a disapproving look; I would even go as far as to say that he looks offended. Dressed and ready to go, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his impeccable dark suit.
“Are we friends? We’re friends, right?” he says, his expression growing more indignant by the minute.
Sigh. Looking into determined brown eyes, a melty event happens in the environ of my heart.
“Of course we’re friends, you dope.”
Friends. Right. Sliding the zipper down, I step into the dress and walk over to him for assistance zipping it up.
“So if the situation were reversed, you would do it for me, wouldn’t you? Our maybe the definition of friendship needs to be clarified.”
There he goes again, lawyering me to death. It’s official, I will never win an argument with this man. “Stop out-thinking me. You’re being rude.”
“You should be used to it by now.” Our eyes meet over my shoulder, mine practically stuck in the roll back position, his looking as pleased with himself as ever. With a well placed kiss on the side of my neck, he zips up the dress. Discussion over.
It occurred to me when Ethan was driving us to the cemetery that there is no actual reason for me to speak to, or see my mother ever again. If I want to be, I could be free of her…if I want to be. Because that would mean I would be free of Audrey and Dan as well.
The day is cloudy. We get there the same time Dan pulls in. Audrey is the first one out of their car. She’s wearing a dark shirt, a purple pleated miniskirt and black leggings. Her hair is in princess Leia buns. She runs into me with enough force to almost knock me down, and hugs my waist in a death grip. I smile for the first time in days.
Everyone is quiet as we walk to the gravesite. This cemetery is very large and riddled with hills. I don’t fail to note that Eileen is wearing four inch heels. By the looks of the red soles, Louboutins. In contrast, I’m wearing ballerina flats.
Watching her lean on Dan as we traverse hill after hill to get to the plot, her heels sinking into the grass with every step she takes, is the highlight of my week. At one point she almost drags Dan down with her as she stumbles backwards. I know in my heart of hearts that some time in the future, when I recall this, I will break out it fits of laughter.
I glance up at Ethan to see if he’s noticed, and watch his lips quiver. I don’t know what his eyes are doing because he has his King of Studs sunglasses on.
The black comedy portion of the day is over when we reach the plot. The priest is already there. Everything is set to go. Ethan keeps his arm around me on one side while Audrey flanks my other side. Dan has taken Eileen’s hand. He rubs her knuckles in comfort.
I used to believe in karma. I used to believe that there’s a master plan as to how our lives play out, a heavenly accountant, if you will, keeping track of all the pluses and minuses. I cry foul. I cry foul for the simple fact that Eileen never did a damn thing to deserve a man as good as Dan. How does that equation balance? How does she get to roller-skate through life without a care, without ever once dealing with the consequences of her irresponsibility? How is that fair? Someone explain it to me.
The service starts and concludes with expedience. We thank the priest as the coffin is being lowered, linger for an amount of time that’s appropriate, then en masse begin our cross-country trek back to the parking lot. Eileen complains the entire time. I kid you not.
“I don’t understand why she had to buy a plot all the way in the back…my shoes are ruined. Dan, my shoes are ruined. Look at the heels, they’re ruined.”
“I’m sure they’re not ruined,” St. Dan the doting husband responds.
“Look at how many nice plots there are closer to the road. I would’ve told her to buy one of these, but did anyone consult me? Of course not. These shoes are seven hundred dollars…Jesus, it’s hot. If I knew it was going to get hot I wouldn’t have worn this suit…Dan, can’t you bring the car around? I can’t walk another step in these shoes. This cemetery isn’t very well kept…”
“She was trying to save money!” I shout, wheeling around to face her. “For her care! Do you know how much that plot cost? Five thousand! Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”
Ethan grips my shoulder harder, almost pulling me back, while my mother’s eyes narrow on me.
“That’s it. We’re leaving. I don’t need to take this shit from you. God, you’re such a bully!”
For a minute, I feel bad…only for a minute.
Dan looks so uncomfortable he looks ready to crawl out his skin. In silence, Audrey follows our mother to the car while Dan is left standing there. “Maybe it’s best we all take a time out. Amber, I know you’re upset, but she’s upset too. She just handles it differently.”
With that, Dan turns and leaves. Ethan and I watch the car drive away. It feels like a chapter of my life just ended.
Two nights later, sleeping restlessly, I wake abruptly in the middle of the night. The cable box reads two am. A loud snore coming from the man next to me says Ethan is soundly asleep. I crawl out of bed and throw on Ethan’s hoody over my tank top and underwear. Grabbing my phone just in case, I head out.
I’ve been on edge the last two days. I never realized that it was the weight of my grandmother that was tying me down, anchoring me to this life, until it was gone. Untethered, I feel like I could float away. That I should float away…
to Los Angeles. Except something keeps whispering in my ear that either way, I won’t find any peace.
In the rooftop garden, I sit on the carved wooden bench overlooking the cityscape. It’s only June and already warm.
“Hey,” I hear coming from the doorway. The voice sounds hoarse, sleep deprived. Ethan stands there in his glasses, a t-shirt and boxer briefs. My heart lurches inside my chest. Not because he’s stunning on the outside––because he’s even more beautiful on the inside.
“Did I wake you?”
He shakes his head. “Not having you next to me did,” he states casually as if he didn’t just freaking end me. I wonder if he even realizes the significance of his words.
Pain, my heart throbs with it, my throat constricting with all the things I’m too scared to tell him. I have so much love for this man my body can’t contain it all.
I watch him rub his eyes with his thumb and index finger, his eyebrows stretching up. Between juggling work and me, he must be exhausted. I’ve tried to pretend everything’s back to normal––whatever that is––to alleviate some of his concern. It doesn’t seem to be working, though.
“I’m going to offer Susan my inheritance. I’m done being patient.”
His face stills. “What’s the hurry?”
“I’m sick of waiting, Ethan. I’m sick of having this hang over my head. You said this would take three months tops and it’s already five.”
“I told you David knows what he’s doing. He knows what’s in your best interest.”
In the pause I gather my thoughts, hoping to make him understand this sudden sense of urgency I feel.
“You know, I never considered my grandmother dying. Sounds like a blindspot now that I say it out loud but every doctor we saw told us this disease takes forever to kill a person…so I prepared for forever.” Ethan nods, sympathy filling his eyes. “And now that she’s gone I’ve run out of excuses. I need to go to L.A.”
His head tips back, frustration etched in his refined features.
“You need that money,” he grinds out. “Moving will be expensive. Just give him a little more time to negotiate. From what Dave’s been telling me, I have a feeling she’ll come around soon.”
“By soon I hope you mean tomorrow because otherwise I’ll email Parker. I’ll make the offer myself.”
Eyes trained on the horizon, he says, “Are you coming to bed?” Ethan grumpy is a rare thing. I chalk it up to lack of sleep.
The gust of chilly wind makes me shiver. I follow him back down without a word. In the bedroom I slip off the hoody and notice an alert on my phone. Audrey has sent me an email.
“What is it?” Ethan asks, his tired expression clearing.
“Audrey.” I click on the email and read it out loud.
I know you’re sad and angry at mom but she’s sad too. She’s been crying a lot since the funeral and I don’t think it’s about grandma. I think it’s because she wants things to be different with you. Don’t be mad at her forever. Please.
“There’s an attachment,” I say and click on the audio file.
“I know you miss Grandma.” Her sweet voice drifts through the speaker. “But now you have me…this is Afterlife by Ingrid Michaelson. This is for you.”
Ethan’s reassuring gaze captures mine.
The first keys of the piano aren’t what I’m expecting them to be. They’re not as forceful and upbeat as the original. Audrey’s rendition is slow and melancholy.
“When the world is breaking down around you, taking everything that you know.
What you didn't know is that we can go forever.
If we want to we can live inside of a moment the one that we own.
You and me
We got this
You and me
We're beautiful
Beautiful”
My sister’s lilting voice strips me of the cloak of numbness I’ve been wearing since that late night call. It gets into my bones and digs in, pushing every emotion I’ve been hiding for the past week to the surface. A river of tears runs down my face, onto my neck, splashing on my tank top.
“We are
We are
We’re going to be alright
We got
We got
We always got the fight in us
We are
We are
We’re going to live tonight like there's no tomorrow ‘cause we are the afterlife.”
Ethan’s face is tight, his frustration clear. Three large steps and he’s on me, holding me close to his heart like he means to never let go. The urge to get closer turns into a desperate neediness that reminds me of rats on a sinking ship. My world is sinking and I scratch and claw, holding onto him to stay afloat for one more breath.
My body starts to shake, a catharsis, years of pent up anger and disappointment purging all at once. Warm hands span my back, holding me securely until the spasms stop. And all the while he whispers sweet reassurances and promises that speak to my soul, to every true fear I harbor but never voice out loud.
That he’s here for me.
That I’m not alone.
That he’ll never let me go.
“We are
We are
We’re going to be alright
We got
We got
We always got the fight in us
We are
We are
We’re going to live tonight like there's no tomorrow ‘cause we are the afterlife.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The doorbell rings and rings and rings. I don’t know what I expected when I rip open the door, but it isn’t Parker.
Standing on the front stoop with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his creased, hipster jeans, everything about him is familiar and foreign at the same time. I used to think him unaffected, above such superficial bullshit. How wrong I was. The messy blond hair and neat beard that I once found so adorably sexy makes me want to barf now.
“What are you doing here?”
He won’t hold my burning gaze. His expression is not the same careless one I had the displeasure of seeing five months ago. This time it’s sheepish.
“I’m here to invite you to lunch. I need to speak to you and you haven’t returned any of my calls.” He pushes up a fake smile.
“Last time you invited me someplace I wound up in jail, so you’ll excuse me if I invite you to fuck off.”
I’m about to shut the door on him when Parker grabs it.
“Amber, I’m begging you. It’s the film. The dailies came back and Cheyenne…” His shoulders fall. Head tilted away, I watch his lips press so tight they disappear. “She isn’t ready for such a heavy role. We’ve only shot a week’s worth of film. The only person who knows this character as well as I do is you.”
Is this a joke?
“Parker––” Shocked, his name comes out a question. “I…I don’t even…” Exhaling harshly, I begin again, “Let’s start at the beginning. Does your wife know she’s being replaced?”
“We discussed it,” he mumbles, the words cautious. “She understands that my career is at stake. I can’t fuck this up.”
His blue eyes meet mine and in them I see desperation––but not altruism. None. And not one iota of remorse. This is, as usual, about Parker and his career, no regard for other people’s needs or feelings. It doesn’t matter what he has to do to get what he wants. Begging, lying, dumping fiancées, firing his wife. Whatever it takes, he’s willing to do it for the sake of his career. I almost admire his dedication.
“I don’t see why you would come all this way for nothing. Thanks to you and your mother I can’t leave the state until this case is closed. That is, unless I have to go to jail.”
His face twists in confusion. Rubbing his bearded chin, the way he’s contemplating me triggers an uneasy flutter in my stomach.
“You don’t know?”
The flutter kicks up a notch, a pending sense of dread on its coattails. “Know what, Parker? Sp
it it out, or I’m shutting this door.”
His mouth tilts up in a smug smile. I know that look. This is bad. “The charges were dropped. The case has been closed for a month. Vaughn paid restitution, for the renovations to my mother’s house.”
The last few words are a blur, drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears, my heart pumping hard enough for it to be painful.
A month.
Closed for a month.
Ethan paid for the repairs.
A month. And he never mentioned it. He’s been lying to me for a month…and I turned down the part because they were shooting in Canada. Rage descends upon me, my legs shaking from the adrenaline rush.
“I’m sorry miss, you can’t go in…” Not even bothering to glance at his receptionist, I storm past her. Her objection fades away as I barrel through the door and into his office.
Ethan looks up from his computer screen and smiles, his eyes two crescents that take me in from head to toe. When they climb up to my narrow eyed scowl, the joy he’s wearing on his too-handsome-for-his-own-good face extinguishes.
Standing to his left, Andi’s expression turns owlish. She starts to inch away from him. Her feminine wiles are obviously telling her shit’s about to go down and her boss is in all likelihood a marked man. Right before she scurries out of the office, she throws a, “Bye, Amber,” over her shoulder.
While Andi closes the door behind her, we stare at each other like we’re in a spaghetti western. Meanwhile, his frazzled secretary trots in. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Vaughn––”
“It’s fine, June. Miss Jones is always welcome.” He smiles at June warmly and the tightness on the secretary’s face eases. June backs out, closing the door behind her as well. Alone at last.
“What’s wrong?” he has the nerve to ask, the space between his eyes puckering.
“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” My lids are practically pinned to my forehead. “You lying sack of shit.”
His shoulders drop, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment. Suspicion confirmed. Parker was telling the truth. And the truth feels exactly like a stake through the heart. When they open again he aims all the remorse and sorrow in them at me. “Who told you?”
