Beautiful Graves(88)

“Take a picture of you with a Montgomery Street sign in the background.”

“Yeah, yeah. I feel like I should ask you for something equally as unpleasant just to even the score,” I grunt, pushing off the window. Loki jumps off my lap in a classic I-wanted-to-get-up-before-you-did cat move.

“You can, and should. I’m always at your service.”

“Not always,” I point out, remembering all the weeks he’s spent ignoring me.

“No,” he says thoughtfully after a beat. “Sometimes I manage to pull myself together and deny you. But not often. Have a good night, Ev.”

“Wait!” I cry out.

He stays on the line but doesn’t say anything. I know I’m going to ruin things, but I can’t help myself. I can never help myself with this man.

“Did you really have a threesome?”

There’s a stretch of silence before he answers: “Yes.”

All this time, I’ve naturally assumed he said this to hurt me. Not so. Maybe Joe has moved on. I know he tried to fight it hard when Dom was in the picture.

“Is that all?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I choke out.

He hangs up.

I put my phone down, grab a pillow from my childhood bed, and scream into it. When I’m done, I pad downstairs. I feel empty. Like if I jog, my internal organs would rattle in my body like pennies.

Dad and Donna are sitting on the patio. The sliding door is open. They’re drinking iced tea and planning a last-minute vacation. Mexico, they think. Shorter flight time than Hawaii, and not as expensive.

“Plus,” I hear Dad say at the tail end of their conversation, “if Ever needs us, we can get here faster.”

And my mangled, put-together heart breaks all over again.

I clear my throat to announce my arrival.

“She’s behind me, isn’t she?” Dad flinches.

Donna turns her head, flashing me an easy smile. “Yes.”

“Am I in trouble?” He turns to me.

I shake my head, advancing toward them. “No, but I should be for all the crap I’ve put you through.”

“I do sometimes wish I could ground you. It was a power I didn’t enjoy wielding quite as often as I should’ve back in the day.” Dad strokes his chin thoughtfully.

“I was a great kid.” I nudge his shoulder, then bend down to kiss his cheek.

“True. And unfortunately, parents and children don’t play on even ground. You can get away with a lot more than I do.”

I grab a seat in front of them. Donna must see the trepidation written on my face, because she stands up and stretches. “I think I’m going to try those new bath bombs Dylan got me. Have a good evening, you two.”

It’s just Dad and me now, and even though I imagined I would get cold feet, I find that I can meet his stare head-on. This is the moment of truth.

“There’s something I’ve been working on these past two months. It was partly for self-healing, to get over what happened with Mom. But also a tribute to her, since she believed in what I did.”

He offers me a small nod.

“I made a sketch for a new headstone for her. I know she already has one. I know I wasn’t there to choose the existing one, and that’s on me. But I thought maybe . . . if you’d let me . . .”

Dad sits back, lacing his fingers together, tapping his lips. “If I’d let you . . . ?”

He is not going to go easy on me. For some reason, this feels really good. He doesn’t treat me like delicate china anymore. That means I’ve grown stronger, right?

“I was wondering if you’d let me replace it. I’ll take care of everything. I’ll hire an artist. I’ll pay for it. And I’ll put it on top of the existing one, so nothing would be removed or disturbed.”

“Do you think she’d have wanted this?” he asks cautiously. He doesn’t take it lightly. After all, it is his late wife we are talking about. And they were crazy about one another.

“Yes.” I chip away at my nail polish. “She always thought my designing headstones was awesome. She used to show my sketches off to clients and curators. I think she’d have appreciated the tribute. No.” I frown. “I don’t think. I know. She told me she’d want me to do this for her when she passed away.”

Still, he is not giving me what I want. I think maybe I’ve found Dad’s red limit. His deceased wife.

He appears deep in thought. “I’ll need to see it first. Renn would want to approve too.”

“That’s not a problem,” I say evenly. “I’ll show you. And I’ll be open to suggestions.”

He offers me a curt nod. “That all?”

“Yes.”

He stands up. Claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Ever. You are turning out to be much stronger than I thought you were. Definitely your mother’s daughter.”



It is Wednesday, at eleven forty-five in the morning, and I want to go home.

I’m standing at the mouth of the Montgomery Street Station, by the stairway leading down to the trains.

This is a mistake. I can’t go back down there. A part of me—the one that clearly needs to be institutionalized—fears that I will walk right into the same gory scene I left behind all those years ago. The blood. The screams. The police tape. The train that stared back at me, daring me to do something.