Blood Sugar(12)

Hannah and I regaled Ameena with stories from our youth. Boys we had dated. Clubs we had sneaked into. Little did I know then that we were still so young. Only eighteen. Still too young to legally get into clubs. We were having so much fun chatting, we decided to make more plans for the week, and Ameena asked what Hannah was up to the following day. Then the tone shifted. Hannah told us it was her father’s birthday tomorrow. So she would be going to his grave to visit. She said this grave-visiting part like I should have already expected such a plan.

But it came as a surprise. Because for all my following of my own deadlines and dates, my own life’s syllabus, it had never crossed my mind that Richard Vale still had a birthday anyone would care about. But of course Hannah cared. Just because in my mind he was long dead, and rightly so, didn’t mean his own daughter didn’t think of him, perhaps every single day. Probably other people thought about him too. From time to time. His own parents, if they were still alive. His siblings or cousins. His widow. A first girlfriend who still owns his high school basketball team tank top. A neighbor who once borrowed his lawn mower. As this hit me, I saw a larger, more complete picture. Each life and death seeps out to other people, maybe dozens, if not even hundreds. And the seeping never stops.

Hannah told Ameena about that horrible Halloween. How we all started happily dressed up as flamingos and we ended up awoken by screams. Hannah’s mom found Richard’s body early that morning. Lying dead in the kitchen, his face mottled and swollen, a gash on his head, plenty of blood on the floor. Ameena was truly sorry to hear about this tragedy, and she kept all her questions at bay in front of Hannah, because she was tactful. But the moment after we hugged Hannah goodbye, Ameena completely freaked. And turned to me.

“You were literally there the night he died?”

“Yes.”

“That’s horrific! Did you actually see his dead body?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It was over two years ago.”

“But still. That’s the kind of thing that can stay with you forever. I mean, I’ve never seen a dead body. And especially to see someone you know.”

I realized I was being too stoic. Too laissez-faire. So I softened. “Yeah. It was a bad time, for sure. Really upsetting. So I guess I sort of blocked it out.”

This response put Ameena at ease. But she still had more to say. “I just can’t believe you never told me about any of this. I mean, I thought I knew everything about you. ’Cause you know everything about me. About every traumatic experience I’ve ever had. Even the stupid dead-squirrel-in-the-garage story.”

I nodded, accepting her disbelief. And she kept talking. “Do you feel you should go with Hannah to the grave site tomorrow? I can hang back. Chill on the beach. I totally understand if you want to go with her. Or I could go with you, if you need support? While supporting her?”

As Ameena kept going on and on about how sad it must be on your father’s birthday after he’s dead and maybe she should call her own parents and try and be civil, try to forgive them, make amends while there was still time, even though they were both such jerks, my mind wandered a little. I understood what she was saying, but I personally didn’t feel triggered by Richard Vale’s death and moot birthday. But maybe that was because I was the only one in the world who knew all the actual details of that night.





CHAPTER 9


    VICTIM



The interrogation room was beginning to feel warm. But I was a native Floridian. I liked warm. And not a dry, thin warm like they always brag about in Arizona. But a humid, thick warm. Maybe Detective Jackson was from Chicago or something. Although I didn’t detect any kind of accent. I noticed a tiny bit of sweat starting to form on his shaved head. He pulled a linen handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed his skull. I could see a small yellow butterfly embroidered on the corner. A woman must have given it to him, I thought. It was not an item a man like him would ever purchase.

“That’s lovely.”

“What?”

“Your handkerchief. Very dapper and old-timey.”

He gave a little grunt. “My sister crochets.”

“I think you mean embroiders.”

His face changed. He went from smug to grumpy. And I knew then that he was not a man who appreciated being corrected. Especially by a suspected murderer. I worried for a moment that I had made a misstep. But then I thought, he already has it out for me. I might as well antagonize him since I can’t possibly make it any worse.

Detective Jackson thrust his hanky back into his pocket and then pushed the photograph of the mugshot closer to me. I pretended to glance at it again, but really looked at a corner edge. Then another. Around and around like a four-cornered clock. Because if I actually looked at it for too long, I was sure I would smell its putrescence and gag. The detective said, “You got pulled over driving his car. Remember? And lo and behold, then he’s dead within six hours.”

I looked away from the four corners, and up to the sweaty detective. Richard Vale was dead within one hour. But I wasn’t about to make this correction.

It was past midnight when I pulled up to Hannah’s house, where we all planned on spending the night. I tried to be quiet while getting the hammered Hannah and Erika out of the car, but as I got out myself and opened the rear door, I noticed a mini bag of peanut M&M’s on the floor. It must have fallen out of my little pink purse when I pulled out my license to show it to the cop. And this was seriously bad. Hannah was so allergic to peanuts that even with the bag closed I worried about it being so close to her. Last time she came into contact with peanuts, her throat closed up and she was rushed to the ER just in time. I knew she kept an EpiPen on her, but still. Better to avoid the situation altogether.