Kathleen O'Brien - Happily Never After

How much could you see from there?

Could you see the foot of the East River Bridge?

“Brian,” she said suddenly. “Will you sleep at my place tonight? I’ve put a bed in the guest room, so you wouldn’t have to take the sofa.”

He tilted his head, smiling. “Spooky old dump finally starting to give you the creeps?”

“No,” she said quickly. “It’s just that—”

She thought of the waiting, silent trees around her studio. She thought of Lillith’s face covered in blood, and Trig standing in Jacob’s kitchen, talking cryptically about God and danger.

To heck with saving face. Tomorrow she’d be strong. Tonight she needed a friend. “Yes.”

Brian drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Well…. Marie won’t like it.”

“Oh.” She tried to control her disappointment. But the idea of being out there alone tonight, with no car… “Never mind, then. I wouldn’t want to cause trouble between you two. If you think you shouldn’t—”

“I never said that. I just said Marie wouldn’t like it. Maybe that’s a good thing.” He waggled his eyebrows. “A little jealousy might be exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“Thanks,” she said, almost ashamed of the relief that coursed through her. She definitely had to get back to being tough tomorrow. “I appreciate it, Brian. I really do.”

She turned her head and stared out the window. They were approaching the spot where Lillith had hit the tree. In a minute they would have to cross the East River Bridge, over to the area unofficially known as the “Left Bank.” Over there, the houses were smaller, funkier, just starting to come back from a long economic down-slide.

Tight zoning was a luxury the Left Bank couldn’t afford. Artsy yuppie condos were haphazardly mixed in with coffee shops, antiques mini-marts and New Age candle boutiques. Beyond the Left Bank lay the rural fringes, where your neighbors were mostly trees, or people who owned guns and horses and dogs named Zeke.

It was out there that Kelly had bought her new place, a surprisingly charming run-down cottage with a detached garage that made the perfect studio. So though she definitely lived, in Cathedral Cove parlance, far, far on “the wrong side of the bridge,” she loved it. Most of the time.

Just not tonight.

“Look,” Brian said. “Someone has already put up a marker for Lillith.”

Kelly saw it at the same time. On the side of the road, just a couple of feet from the tree, a waist-high circular sign stood, announcing to all passersby that tragedy had visited this spot.

Through the years, she’d seen a hundred roadside markers just like this one. But they had always seemed comfortably impersonal, just small, circular plaques that said Drive Carefully, sometimes decorated with crosses, sometimes with flowers, depending on how recent the accident had been. She had always driven by without much more than a generic whisper of sympathy.

But this one was different. She wondered who had put it there. It hadn’t been there this morning.

Jacob hadn’t been in any shape to think of such a gesture. Someone had, though. At least four arrangements of flowers clustered on and around it—and an elaborate floral wreath had been hooked over the top of the sign, like a crown or a halo.

And there was something else. Was it a ribbon? There was very little wind tonight, and yet the thing—was it fabric?—was fluttering oddly, so light it seemed to defy gravity.

She squinted. What was that, draped over the left side of the wreath, undulating, as if it were alive and trying to get her attention?

It looked almost like a streamer of fog, or moss…or…

Something cold gathered around her heart. No, it couldn’t be that.

The breeze was playing with it.

“Brian, stop,” she cried.

He sighed even as he put on the brakes.

“Now what? Come on, Kel, I’m tired. Whatever it is, can’t it wait until—”

But she had already opened the car door and climbed out. She couldn’t hear the end of his sentence.

She walked over to the marker and took the soft, fluttering, weightless scrap into her numb hands. She turned it over. She traced its familiar, exquisite pattern with disbelieving fingers.

It wasn’t fog or moss. It was exactly what she had thought it was.

It was a piece of lace from Sophie Mellon’s wedding dress.

MARY JO’S CAFÉ AND SWEET SHOP was charming from the street side, all hanging baskets of red geraniums, green awnings and shiny black wrought-iron tables and chairs.

But from the alley out back, it looked like any other strip retail business, just a no-frills utility door, an over-filled Dumpster, a teetering stack of wet wooden palettes and an empty plastic bag bumping up against the wall, shoved around by the wind.

Kelly pulled into the dead-end alley, did an automatic three-point turn to leave her minivan facing out and then cut the engine. Here under the trees, it was cool and damp and dirty. The twilight was a mournful blue.

She suddenly wished she’d put this chore first on her list today, not last.

But she had to stop this foolishness. She wasn’t by nature a coward, though she certainly had been acting like one ever since Lillith’s death.

Like last night. Asking Brian to stay had been ridiculous. He had sacked out in the guest room, exhausted from his own long day, the minute they got to Kelly’s place. She’d spent another several hours in the studio, working, essentially alone anyhow.

Still, it had been nice to know another human being was nearby.

He’d taken her to get her van as soon as the dealership had called, and then, as pleasantly as ever, they’d gone their separate ways. They’d both had a million things to do.

Now she was tired. But Kelly had promised Mary Jo she’d return all the café trays they’d used for the funeral food, so, in spite of the eerie blue shadows in the alley, she had to do it.

The café was still open—it would be serving dinner till ten—but most of the other stores on the street were already closed. The only two cars in the alley were Mary Jo’s Honda and Kelly’s minivan, which wasn’t glamorous but was convenient for transporting the big sheets of stained glass she needed for special projects.

Kelly had called ahead, so Mary Jo was waiting for her at the utility door. They unloaded the trays efficiently without much chatter and stacked them in the café’s kitchen.

“Thanks for bringing the stuff back,” Mary Jo said as she walked Kelly to the van. “I can use it tonight. You know what weekends are like.”

Kelly nodded. And they walked the rest of the way in silence. Apparently Mary Jo didn’t feel like making small talk any more than she did.

Maybe Mary Jo realized, just as Kelly had, that handling the funeral food had been the last little chore they’d ever do for Lillith.

After the accident, the first day or two had brought a mercifully numb shock. After that, the details of the funeral had been hectic and distracting.

But now it was over. Life went on. And they had to face that it went on without Lillith.

When they got to the van, Mary Jo hugged her. “Did you get that starter looked at?”

Kelly smiled. “Yeah. Transmission needed work, too. Two thousand dollars altogether. But at least it starts right up.”

“Ouch.” Mary Jo grimaced. “Well. Take care.”

“I will.” Kelly watched as Mary Jo turned and walked slowly back to the store. She didn’t look as if she had enough energy to get to the door, much less shepherd her café through the dinner rush. Tragedy had so many repercussions, big and small.

“Oh—wait—” Kelly said suddenly. “I meant to ask you. Have you heard anything about Sophie being back in town?”