The Gravity of Us (Elements #4)(10)

“Careful!” I hollered, but everyone seemed to be deaf.

When finished, they slammed my doors shut, signed my paperwork, and handed me an envelope. “What’s this for?”

“Didn’t they tell you already?” The woman sighed heavily, then placed her hands on her hips. “The flowers are just for show, and the son of Mr. Russell instructed that they be returned to the florists who delivered them after the service. Inside is your ticket for the event, along with a pass to get backstage afterward to collect your flowers. Otherwise they will be tossed.”

“Tossed?” I exclaimed. “How wasteful.”

The woman arched an eyebrow. “Yes, because there was no possible chance the flowers wouldn’t have died all on their own,” she stated sarcastically. “At least now you can resell them.”

Resell funeral flowers? Because that wasn’t morbid.

Before I could reply, she waved me off without a goodbye.

I opened an envelope and found my ticket and a card that read, “After the service, please present this card to pick up the floral arrangements; otherwise they will be disposed of.”

My eyes read the ticket repeatedly.

A ticket.

For a funeral.

Never in my life had I witnessed such an odd event. When I rounded the corner to the main street, I noticed even more people had gathered around and were posting letters to the walls of the building.

My curiosity hit a new high, and after circling around a few times in search of parking, I pulled into a parking structure. I parked the van and climbed out to go see what everyone was doing there and whose funeral was taking place. As I stepped onto the packed sidewalk, I noticed a woman kneeling down, scribbling on a piece of paper.

“Excuse me,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder. She looked up with a bright smile on her face. “I’m sorry to bother you, but…whose funeral is this exactly?”

She stood up, still grinning. “Kent Russell, the author.”

“Oh, no way.”

“Yeah. Everyone’s writing their own eulogies about how he saved their lives and taping them to the side of the building to honor his memory, but between you and me, I’m most excited to see G.M. Russell. It’s a shame it had to be for an event such as this one, though.”

“G.M. Russell? Wait, as in the greatest thriller and horror author of all time?!” I gushed, realization finally setting in. “Oh my gosh! I love G.M. Russell!”

“Wow. Took you long enough to connect those dots. At first I thought your blond hair was dyed that color, but now I see that you are actually a true-blue blonde,” she joked. “It’s such a big event because you know how G.M. is when it comes to public appearances—he hardly makes them. At book events, he doesn’t engage with the readers except for his big fake grin, and he doesn’t ever allow photographs, but today we’ll be able to take pictures of him. This. Is. Big!”

“Fans were invited to attend the funeral?”

“Yeah, Kent put it in his will. All the money is being donated to a children’s hospital. I got solid seats. My best friend Heather was supposed to come with me, but she went into labor—freaking kids ruin everything.”

I laughed.

“Do you want my extra ticket?” she asked. “It’s super close up front. Plus, I’d rather sit beside another G.M. fan than a Papa Russell fan. You’d be shocked by how many people are here for him.” She paused, cocked an eyebrow, and went digging through her purse. “On second thought, maybe not, seeing as how he was the one who croaked and all. Here you go, they’re opening the doors now.” She handed me her spare ticket. “Oh, and my name’s Tori.”

“Lucy,” I said with a smile. I hesitated for a moment, thinking how weird and out of the ordinary attending a stranger’s funeral in an arena was, but then again…G.M. Russell was inside that building, along with my flowers, which were going to be tossed in a few hours.

We made it to our seats, and Tori couldn’t stop snapping photographs. “These are amazing seats, aren’t they? I can’t believe I snatched this ticket up for only two thousand!”

“Two thousand?!” I gasped.

“I know, right? Such a steal, and all I had to do was sell my kidney on Craigslist to some dude named Kenny.”

She turned to the older gentleman sitting on her left. He had to be in his late seventies, and was handsome as ever. He wore an open trench coat, and underneath it, a brown suede suit with a polka dot blue and white bowtie. When he looked our way, he had the most genuine smile.

“Hey, sorry, just curious—how much did you pay for your seat?”

“Oh, I didn’t pay,” he said with the kindest grin in the world. “Graham was a former student of mine. I was invited.”

Tori’s arms flew out in a state of complete and utter shock. “Wait, wait, wait, time out—you’re Professor Oliver?!”

He smirked and nodded. “Guilty as charged.”

“You’re like…the Yoda to our Luke Skywalker. You’re the Wizard behind Oz. You’re the freaking shit, Professor Oliver! I’ve read every article Graham ever wrote and I must say, it’s just so great to meet the person he spoke so highly of—well, highly in G.M. Russell terms, which isn’t really highly, if you know what I mean.” She chuckled to herself. “Can I shake your hand?”