Chapter 47
Chapter Forty-Seven
“And finally, how does one smoke a turkey?”
“Darling, you remember that I’m not the one who died, right? That I’m the widow, not the corpse? I’ll still be here. Amara has assured me I can remain for the rest of my life, however long or short. I’ll still keep you in smoked turkeys and oatmeal spiked with kale.”
However long or short. Amara helped herself to more meatballs and wondered if Hilly’s longevity would be cut short, as she was no longer Death’s consort.
Elderly widows and widowers often died within months—sometimes days—of their spouse’s death.
Would her mother follow the pattern? Or begin an entirely new existence?
Regardless, the lady was right. This was her home, too. However long or short her life.
“Hilly, you know I’m sorry about your husband.”
“I do, thank you.”
“But I didn’t know he and Amara were going to work a trade to save—I mean, to extend my life. I didn’t even know that was a thing.” Gray looked anxious and had stopped scribbling notes. “But if I had, I wouldn’t have agreed to it.”
“I know, darling.” Hilly gave him a comforting squeeze. “Amara takes after her father in many ways, including her insistence on making life-and-death decisions for other people.”
“Still in the room,” Amara announced.
“Good to know,” Gray replied. “And do I even want to know what you guys did with Skye’s corpse?”
“Where do you think La Croix and Chernobog went off to?”
“Cool, cool. If those two decided to buy a van and drive around solving mysteries, I’d like and subscribe.”
“I’m the mystery solver,” Amara said. “It just takes me a really long time to realize there is a mystery.”
“And what about your dad? A funeral, right?”
“Oh, yes, Gray,” Hilly replied. “And when it’s done, we’ll burn him and give him back to the earth.”
“Oh.” Gray, who had just piled second helpings on his plate and scored a big fat strawberry for Amara, took his seat at the table. “While we’re talking about this stuff, does Skye being dead mean no one on the Isle of Skye can die?”
“No. There was a new avatar the moment Skye went belly-up.”
“Let me guess: It’s complicated.”
“Well.” Amara shrugged.
“And it’s amazing that Skye’s death was dramatic and an anticlimax at the same time. I mean, you barely touched her. One second she was spitting and the next . . .” Gray mimed slitting his throat with his finger. “Canceled.”
“That’s not what canceled means, and it was only anticlimactic because I’d finally opened myself to all I could do.”
“Like Captain Marvel. You realized all this time you’d been fighting with one hand tied behind your back.”
She sighed. “If that helps you.”
“You bet it helps me. It’s no coincidence that when we got here a few days ago, the first thing you did was say howdy to your folks, then instantly dyed your hair. Even though you just did it two weeks ago.”
“It’s too early in the day to be psychoanalyzed.”
“Ha! Not hardly. Watch me take it further: The migraines weren’t migraines.”
“Correct.”
“I mean, you said it a couple of times, but I didn’t get it right away. They were a . . . I dunno, a symptom? A side effect? Of squashing your Death Lite powers?”
“Correct.”
“Which I told you!” Hilly cried. “Years ago! But now you hear it from Gray, you accept it?”
“It’s not just hearing it from Gray,” she grumped. “Can’t we just agree it’s ancient history?”
“Uh . . . which part?”
“No,” Hilly said with a frown. “You’re forgetting your Faulkner, dear.”
“You bet I am.”
“The past isn’t over, it’s not even past?” Gray guessed.
“Close enough, dear.” To Amara: “You’ll need to meet with our accountants this week. All that was Death’s is yours.”
“So, downside, you’re the Grim Reaper. Upside, you’re a millionaire. It’s none of my business, but how are you guys rich? Did Death get in on the ground floor for inventions? Did he know the telephone would catch on? And TVs? And, I dunno, fabric softener?”
“Freyja Brunhilde Gondul weeps gold,” Amara replied with her mouth full. Crazy how Death’s death was revving up every engine: She was starving, horny, and itching to sign tax paperwork. Itching to file something, even. And Reap, God help her!
“Uh. What?”
“My tears would turn into gold. And over the centuries, I found much to weep over.” Freyja waved away Gray’s astonishment. “I can’t do it anymore, which is just as well. We have all the funds we’ll ever need. At some point it becomes outright greed.”
“I was thinking your husband invested in the printing press, but that works, too.”
“Yes.” To Amara: “Everyone is coming over again tonight to fête you.”
“Joy. Let’s meet in the cave, just to make La Croix miserable.” She grinned, picturing it. “I imagine we should all get used to things being a little different.”
“It goes without saying your father had his way of doing things,” Hilly said, “and you’ll have yours. And, as you said, you’ll have help. Now forgive me if I’m seen to pry, but will I have the joy of planning a wedding anytime soon?”
“I dunno if it’s a joy,” Gray said doubtfully. “It looks really stressful. Unless TV and movies have been lying to me.”
“We just admitted we’ve been in love, Mom.”
“Well, it’s not like you two have to get to know each other. Or want to be with anyone else. You’ve had years to find alternatives but remained with each other.”
“True. No surprises. Same old, same old. Yawn,” Gray said.
“Snore,” Amara agreed.
“The only way I’d be interested is if you guarantee we can look forward to ‘same old, same old’ for at least a century.”
“I guarantee nothing. In this you’ll be like everyone else. Roll the dice. Take your chances.”
“Done,” he replied, and kissed her.