The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(20)

July, however, seems to be compartmentalizing. She’s bent on pretending this is normal, that tonight is merely a random adventure shared by two ex–best friends ambling about town, dragging up the corpses of their past mistakes. I’m not certain she’s accepted that she’s not actually alive. I’ve witnessed July in denial before, but this isn’t like the time she refused to admit she couldn’t pull off a perm. July’s refusal to face reality doesn’t change that her funeral is tomorrow. In the morning, my mom or Delilah is going to open the freezer in the office expecting to find July’s body. They’re going to dress her and prepare her to Mr. and Mrs. Cooper’s specifications. Then they’re going to arrange July inside the coffin the Coopers selected, load it into the hearse, and deliver it to St. Mark’s Catholic Church for the service, after which we’ll drive to the cemetery and bury July in a six-foot-deep hole.

Actually, it’s more likely that, unless we explain what’s happening to our parents, Mom or Delilah will find July missing from the freezer, they’ll call the cops, the Coopers will freak out—and who could blame them? Dealing with the theft of their daughter’s corpse?—my parents will lose their business and the house, and we’ll have to move to a town in a state where no one knows us. Someplace like New Amsterdam, Indiana. Either way, ignoring our situation won’t change what’s coming, and I need to make July see that.

I guess it’s been long enough, so I walk to the parking lot. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” My mom’s car isn’t there. There aren’t enough cars for it to be hiding, but I keep looking anyway, like it’s the fridge at home and if I close and open the door enough times, food that wasn’t there last time will have magically appeared. But the car isn’t going to suddenly materialize. July actually left, and I have no way to contact her. This can’t be happening.

I walk to the front of the store and sit on a bench beside the exit. Every time a light flashes in the lot, my head jerks up expecting it to be July. It isn’t.

“You all right?”

I didn’t notice the woman standing in the shadows against the wall. She’s wearing a blue vest with a tag on it that says her name is Ruby, and she’s smoking.

“Sure,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

Ruby takes a drag and blows the smoke away from me, but the wind carries it in my direction anyway. “?’Cause you look a little rough.” She steps out of the shadows and sits beside me. She’s younger than I thought. Maybe not much older than me. A bit of ink peeks up from the edge of her collar on the side of her neck, and I wonder what it is.

“My best friend died—ex–best friend . . .”

“Damn. I’m so sorry.”

I brush her sympathy off. “It’s fine. She came back to life, which you’d think would be cool, but we’ve been fighting all night. And then some guy got run over, but he didn’t die—and why not? Apparently no one’s dying—and I only wanted to talk about it and figure things out, but she’s selfish and stubborn and abandoned me to teach me a lesson.”

Ruby fidgets with the cigarette between her fingers. “The dead best friend?”

“Ex.”

“Whatever.”

“The whole situation is ridiculous. I’m not the one who needs the lesson; she is. This is her fault. Leave it to July to ruin dying, and not just for herself; for everyone.” I rake my hair with my hands. “I can’t believe this is happening. I’d go home, leave her to sort out this mess herself, but, oh yeah, she stole my car.”

Ruby raises her eyebrows and then flicks her cigarette away. “Dude, just call an Uber.” She gets up and walks toward the entrance doors.

“Thanks!” I yell. “Great advice! Why I didn’t think of that?”

“Asshole,” she mutters before going in.

I can’t sit in front of Walmart all night, so I pull out my phone. Two more missed texts from Rafi. Neither contain hearts. He’d pick me up if I asked him, but then I’d have to explain why I’m here and where my car went, and I wouldn’t know where to begin. Calling my mom or dad or Delilah presents the same set of problems. Damn, maybe Ruby was right and I should call an Uber.

No. I can’t go home without July. I pull up Rafi’s messages again. The last one was a picture of the pizzas he’d ordered. The one before that a weird almost-haiku about beer. My thumbs hover over the letters. What do I say? Hey, I need your help. It involves a talking corpse. It’s better if you don’t ask questions. Probably not the best idea. Rafi’s amazing, so I could tell him the truth and he’d believe me—or he’d pretend to believe me—and would help me in any way he could. But no. I can’t do that to him. I can’t drag him into this mess. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to July.

Finally, I decide to walk. My house is only a couple of miles away, and maybe July will realize how wrong she was and turn around and see me walking and feel horrible that she made me exercise and sweat. Nah, that probably won’t happen.

When I’m about halfway home, I pass the strip mall with the Taco Bell, which is open, and the Publix, which isn’t, and I spot my mom’s car parked at the edge of the lot. Thank you, Jesus! But as I walk, I spy someone with weirdly big hair get out of a truck, jog toward my car, and start pounding on the windows. And they’re yelling July’s name.