The Dead Romantics (52)

“She picked fights for you in high school,” Carver added. “Remember when that girl, Heather, tried to cyberbully you, and Al confronted her in the courtyard?”

“Well, I do now,” I replied wryly. I hadn’t thought about Heather in a long, long time.

“She punched Heather so hard that she ended up getting a nose job.”

“I thought Alice was for sure going to get suspended for that,” I laughed.

Alice had always been like that. Quick to come to my rescue, quicker to throw a punch. I never liked confrontation, but Alice loved me, and she hated seeing me bullied. We’d been inseparable for years, but then I left the first chance I got. I didn’t stay.

And that was something I just didn’t know how to talk about with her.

“I kind of feel sorry for this Heather girl,” Nicki mused.

“Don’t be, babe, she’s doing quite well,” Carver said dismissively. “Still in town, too.”

“Hope I don’t run into her,” I said, and sat back on the grass as Carver stood, taking the pressure sprayer, and washed down both his stones and mine. They looked a good century younger. “I would have to eventually if I moved back here.”

Carver gave me a sidelong look. “You’re thinking about it?”

“I mean—I do miss everyone,” I admitted.

New York was a great place to live if you had roots there. If you were part of it. But some people weren’t born for steel jungles and the fast-paced lifestyle and—let’s face it—the cost of living. I used to love that I blended in with the crowd, that I was another face among faces, another writer chasing their dreams in the neighborhood coffee shop. But the longer I lived there, the more gum littered the sidewalk and rust crept in.

I didn’t imagine being there forever, but I didn’t know where I wanted to go, or what felt like home. Nowhere really did, if I was honest with myself. Dad always said it was never about the place, but the people you shared it with. In New York, I had Rose—and for a while I had Lee, and for a while it felt like I finally had found home.

Somewhere permanent. Somewhere safe.

Then, in the blink of an eye, I was on the sidewalk with my suitcase in the rain, and Lee was closing the door.

And despite what I told him, if Lee had come to me, asking for a second chance, begging to try again—

I would’ve said yes.

But I wasn’t sure why anymore.

A quiet wind whispered through the dogwood trees. I’d gotten so used to cars and construction and the sounds of people living so close together, I forgot what true silence sounded like. It wasn’t silence at all, but a soft sigh between the gravestones. The steady creak of an old and endless house.

Carver cocked his head. “It would be nice to have you home. But don’t come home because you think you should. Come home because you want to.”

I didn’t know exactly what I wanted.

But it wasn’t what I had.

“Let’s do a few more stones before the sun goes down,” I said, pushing down the restlessness in my head. Neither Carver nor Nicki pushed back, thankfully, and we managed to do three more tombstones before Officer Saget pulled up at the gates.

He eyed me. “Miss Day. Nice to see you.”

I strained to smile. “Lovely evening, Officer.”

As we left the cemetery, Carver tsked. “You’re not even back a week and you’re already getting Saget antsy. Scandalous! What’ll the neighbors think?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” I said dismissively. “I can’t help it that he’s suspicious.”

“You did release a rabid possum in the police station.”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up? Possums usually don’t get rabies. It was a fluke! I don’t see why he can’t just move on.” Never mind the trespassing violations and probably the slew of other things I did as a teenager to help a ghost move on. “I just went for a moonwalk the other night. That’s it!”

My brother laughed. “You should’ve asked me to come with you. I love moonwalks! Nicki, one time when Florence and I were—what? Twelve? Ten?”

“Something like that,” I agreed, already knowing the story he was about to tell.

“Anyway, it was right after a storm and we were all up and pretty wired. The lights had gone out. So Mom and Dad took us for a moonwalk . . .”

I listened as we walked back along the side street to the main part of town. Most of the shops were emptying out for the evening. Nothing stayed open late here in Mairmont, aside from the Waffle House and Bar None. It was so unlike New York, where everything was busy and frantic all the time. Here it felt like the world was in slow motion. Everything took its time.

I felt like I’d already been here for a year, and it’d only been a few days.

“How’s the obit going?” Carver asked as they dropped me back off at the bed-and-breakfast.

“Great,” I lied. “I should be done soon.”

More lies.

“Can’t wait to read it. Dad’d be glad you wrote it,” he added. “He was proud of everything you wrote.”

“Oh, yeah, the one thing.” That he knew about, I added to myself.

Carver opened his mouth to respond, but I turned away before he could—I didn’t need consoling—and I walked into the bed-and-breakfast.