The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried(70)

So I do.





DINO

THERE ARE FIVE DEAD BODIES in the freezer. Plus the one on the table in front of me. Mr. Arjun. Aged fifty-three. Died due to complications from a quadruple bypass surgery. I’m supposed to make him look like he’s fresh off a ten-day Caribbean cruise.

Mom’s blasting one of her favorite songs and doing a dance we refer to as the “goth stomp,” which isn’t a particularly creative name, while she puts the finishing touches on Mrs. Johnson, aged forty-nine, died from pancreatic cancer.

Dad leans over me and makes a chirp of approval. “Nice job on the skin tone, but his smile needs to look slightly less like he won the lottery and more like he’s found the peace of death and is looking forward to the next—”

I snap off my gloves. “Yeah, good luck with that. I have a date.”

“Where are you and Rafi going tonight?”

“He’s taking me to see a ballet.”

Dad grimaces. “And you’re going willingly?”

“I made him sit through Hairspray last weekend, so I kind of owe him.” I edge toward the door.

“Hey, Dino,” Dad calls. “Thanks for helping out. We never could’ve gotten through this without you.”

I shrug. “It’s only until Dee’s home from her honeymoon. I can handle it.” I wave good-bye to Mom and take off so I can change and shower before Rafi picks me up.

Dad wasn’t kidding about needing my help. The night of the wedding, Mom and Dad got flooded with calls. Every funeral home in the area’s been dealing with the backlog of death. I found the woman from the hospital, the one missing part of her head, among the names of the dead waiting for burial, and I also learned that the man who’d been hit by the car had survived. The “miracle” had given him the time he’d needed to get help and live. I couldn’t find any information regarding the man who’d tried to take his own life, but I assume, since I didn’t see his name among the list of the dead, that he changed his mind. I hope so, anyway.

It only took a week for the “miracle” to cycle out of the news. No one knew how to explain it, so they called it a coincidence and moved on. The president tried to take credit for it, calling it “the greatest miracle in the history of miracles. There’s never been a bigger miracle than this one,” but everyone knows by now that he’s full of shit.

I set my phone by the sink and hop into the shower to scrub the smell of death off of me, and I think about July. Not because of the smell of death, although that is kind of a trigger, but because it doesn’t take much to get me thinking about July. I went to her grave after the wedding, and it looked like it had the last time I’d been there. I assume Zora Hood helped dig up the coffin and get July into it. I saw her after the show when I stopped backstage to congratulate her and Benji on their amazing performances. She didn’t mention July, but her hands were covered in Band-Aids.

I squirt conditioner into my hand and rub it through my hair, and then I hear a ding from my phone. I almost slip and fall and break my neck trying to get to it.

It’s an e-mail from July.

I don’t even bother rinsing my hair. I grab a towel and wrap it around my waist and sit in front of my computer. My hands are shaking as I lift the lid and click the e-mail.

Dear Dino,

If you’re reading this, then it worked. Thank God. If it hadn’t worked, you’d probably still be smelling me right now on account of I’d be sitting beside you annoying you, trying to come up with another plan.

But I guess since you’re getting this e-mail, then I’m definitely dead. You should’ve expected it. This was your stupid idea after all.

Right now I’m sitting in Zora Hood’s bedroom, and she’s torturing me by eating those little bagel pizzas I love so damn much. They’re almost as good as cake. Almost. I’m planning to show up at the wedding tomorrow night and make a dramatic scene and tell you good-bye and that I love you and that you’re my best friend and all that other crap. I hope I manage to say most of it and that we don’t get sidetracked like usual.

Who am I kidding? Of course we’ll get sidetracked. We’re Dino and July. It’s what we do.

Anyway, I hope I got to say everything to you I wanted to say, because this e-mail isn’t for you. I’ve made you executor of the Past. My past. The end of the e-mail will contain log-in information. I need you to go into the account and send the letters I wrote to my parents and to Jo. You can read them if you want—I can only haunt you or whatever—but, don’t worry, I didn’t mention about my time among the not-dead. It’s just a bunch of stuff I should’ve said when I was alive.

Well, that’s it, then.

I love you, Dino. And even though I’m gone, I’ll always be watching over you. Yes, even when you’re in the shower.

Love,





July

P.S. There’s a little something attached to the e-mail for you. I finally finished The Breakup Protection Program. It may not be the ending you want, but it’s an ending, and if you don’t like it, you can write your own.

It’s killing me to wait to read how July tied up everyone’s stories, but the first thing I do is log in to the Past and send the e-mails July wrote to her family. They don’t deserve to have to wait one second longer than necessary.