Chapter 3 #2
Hyde cracks a smile. “Maybe died suddenly would work better?” His phone pings and his smile widens. “It’s Millie. Looks like she’s enjoying Dash’s company.”
“What did she say?”
“She sent a knife emoji.”
I laugh, but the sound dies in my throat when I realize how foreign it sounds. No one’s laughed in this house for seventeen years.
“How’s she doing?” I ask, dragging my mind back to the present. “Any improvement?”
“She’s talking more.”
“To you?”
I’ve never heard her voice, but I obsess over what she sounds like and what color her eyes are more than I fucking should.
“Mostly. She said hi to Noah ten seconds in, though, so that’s good. Even Dash got a few words.”
That is good... but it doesn’t feel good.
I’ve never heard her speak. Not in person or over the phone, even though I sat in Hyde’s room while he talked to her every day after she was released from the hospital and he came back to school.
She didn’t trust anyone else with her voice and Hyde took that seriously.
He kept the in-call volume low, like even letting me overhear would be a violation.
They talked for hours sometimes. He’d pace the room, hand in his hair, eyes flicking to mine whenever the guilt threatened to pick him apart. I kept him steady, grounded him with my presence so he could be her anchor without falling apart.
But the second she hung up, he’d lose it a little. And it was my turn to be there for him. My turn to push water into his hand and force him to sit, breathe, and tell me how she was.
Is she okay?
Is she making progress?
To this day, she is... and she isn’t.
Hyde downs the rest of his water and checks his wristwatch. “Go grab a shower, Creed. You’re not getting in my car smelling like that.” His gaze flicks to the hall. “You want me to clean out his things?”
Cold sweat mists the back of my neck. I didn’t even think about getting rid of Jeremiah’s shit.
“Not today.”
“I can bag the obvious while you shower.”
“No, leave it for now.”
He drops the subject when I stand, but before I head into my bedroom, someone knocks on the door and we both move to open it, Hyde hovering like an overprotective mother.
Miriam stands on the porch in a flowery raincoat, holding a glass dish wrapped in foil. The smell hits me before she speaks. Onions, ketchup, and something burned.
“Hello, sweetie,” she trills, her eyes softening. “How are you holding up? Are you doing okay?”
“Fine, Miriam.”
She tilts her head, doing that oh with her lips like she’s looking at a wounded puppy. “I know it’s not much, but I thought I’d spare you the trouble of cooking this week.”
“We appreciate it, Miriam.” Hyde takes the meatloaf before I have to. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I echo. “I’ll make sure to return the dish.”
She gives me one more pity-filled smile before her shoes squelch down the wet porch steps. Once I close and lock the door, Hyde peels the foil back, curiosity getting the better of him. Doesn’t he know it killed the fucking cat?
He rears back immediately, letting the foil drop. “You could patch drywall with this.”
I chuckle. “Whatever you do, don’t eat it.”
He nods, heading for the kitchen, hopefully to dispose of the meatloaf before it crawls out of the dish.
***
“Closed or open casket?” Rivers, the funeral director, asks, sitting behind his mahogany desk, a fucking quill in hand.
“Closed.”
He scribbles the choice on the form.
I never want to see my father again. His dead, ashen face, eyes open and dull as he lay on the living room floor, is exactly how I want to remember him.
Hyde sits beside me, forearms on his knees, gaze fixed on the stack of papers we’ve already gone through.
“We can arrange for a service here,” Rivers continues, flipping another page. “Or at the gravesite. Either way, we’ll coordinate with the military for the honors.”
I grind my teeth until a dull throb starts in my molars. My aunt will have a fit when she arrives on Saturday and finds the graveyard empty save for me and my friend, maybe a couple of particularly nosy neighbors.
“No honors,” I tell him.
His quill pauses, hovering midair. “I beg your pardon?”
“No. Honors,” I repeat. “No uniform, no salute, no flag. He’s not getting a hero’s send-off.”
Rivers clears his throat, polite confusion creeping into his voice. “Mr. Creed, I understand you’re grieving, and that this is a very difficult time for you, but I knew your father personally. He earned his stars and a military send-off.”
“No,” I snap, making the man flinch. “Write it down.”
He stares at me for a good minute before offering a tight nod. “I understand.”
Funny. He doesn’t look like he understands, more like he’s afraid I’ll break his glasses with my fist if he doesn’t drop the fucking subject fast enough.
“We’ll proceed with a private burial,” he adds.
“Good. What’s next?” I can’t wait to get out of here. The smell of disinfectants and lilies makes my stomach roil.
“Casket selection. We have several suitable options for a man of your father’s importance. Oak, cherry—”
“The cheapest one you’ve got,” I interrupt.
Hyde exhales through his nose. “He means plain pine.”
“Of course.” Rivers stands, his nose wrinkling before he smooths his expression into polite pity. “I’ll show you.” He leads us down a narrow hallway into the casket showroom. “This one’s simple,” he begins, pointing out the one I locked my eyes on as we entered. “Pine, unvarnished—”
“Sold,” I stop him mid-pitch.
“Very well,” he says through clenched teeth. “Please move to the front desk. I won’t be long. I just need to prepare the bill.” He turns on his heel, rushing out of the room.
Hyde clasps his hand on my shoulder. “You did good.”
“Did I?”
“You didn’t throw him through the wall.”
“Can you set the bar any lower or is that the lowest it’ll go?” I hand him my credit card. “Settle the bill, alright? I need air.”
Outside, it finally stopped raining, leaving puddles to dry in the autumn sun. I light a cigarette, filling my lungs with smoke, eyes on the wet ground. Poison filters through me and I exhale a gray cloud, the move never failing to calm my frayed nerves.
Hyde finds me leaning against the hood, lighting a second cigarette from the still smoldering first one.
“You good?” he asks.
“I hate that you came but I’m glad you did.” I crunch the butt under my boot.
“That’s usually how it goes with us.”
“Yeah... I fuck up and you show up even when I give you every reason not to.”
“I like hard cases.”
I take another drag, bracing for a rare bout of honesty. “I’m sorry I made you leave her.”
“You didn’t make me do shit, Creed. She sent me here.” He looks down the street toward a corner shop. “You want to grab anything before we head back? Beer? Whiskey?”
I shake my head, flicking ash into a puddle. “No.”
“Alright, good. Back to normal.”
Yeah. Back to normal... me pretending I’m fine and Hyde believing me for maybe an hour tops.