Chapter Fifty
Leonard’s unit was too quiet. The place where Patrick’s cage had been felt like some sort of wormhole. Patrick being gone was the surest evidence that something was truly wrong and that Leonard wasn’t just out at his writing workshop or the cafeteria.
The plants lining his space seemed to droop even though it had only been one day without his attention. I wished I had a place for them all, despite the fact that I’d murdered enough plants to be a serial killer.
Most items in the apartment were tagged with blue stickers, which indicated they should be packed and stored. Similar-looking red tags said Destroy and discard.
I found myself gravitating to red-tagged items. It was mostly perishables and junk mail and magazines and a few broken items like a chipped vase.
As I pressed deeper into the apartment, I found that Leonard’s casket had been returned back to his spare room.
Since it wore a blue tag, I assumed that meant Leonard had made arrangements for the green funeral he’d pivoted to in the last few months.
I’d never met someone in my life so prepared for death, and yet I couldn’t make sense of the devastating shock I felt now that he’d actually died.
Regret stung most of all. I’d been home for two whole weeks and because I was so caught up with Eli and doing everything in my power to avoid Ruby, I had barely seen Leonard.
I didn’t even get a chance to find out how he felt about his living funeral, and I’d never be able to share the cryptic notes I’d made on my story.
It struck me then how deeply unfair it was that Leonard still probably had so many movies and television shows that he was looking forward to watching and would now never experience.
I hiccupped a laugh at the thought, which then turned into a fresh round of sobs. Leonard was dead and somehow the thing that wrecked me the most was that he’d never get to see the next seasons of The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City and Sister Wives.
My phone—all but forgotten—vibrated in my pocket. When I scrolled through the notifications, I found that I’d missed another call and received six texts—all from Brody.
Whatever he needed from me wasn’t relevant in this moment. There was a time when I couldn’t even let his calls ring more than twice before rushing to answer, but right now, he was so far beyond my concern.
I plopped down on the office chair in the corner of the room, letting the weight of grief hold me in its gravitational pull. Under the desk was a metal filing cabinet with folders all labeled with red stickers. Discard, discard, discard, discard.
Normally, I wouldn’t just start digging through someone else’s paperwork, but Leonard was a meddlesome bastard, so surely he would understand. Encourage me, in fact.
I unhooked the first folder from the metal lining of the drawer and opened it on the desk.
It was a script.
My Mother’s Father Draft 4
I took out the next folder.
Paid Vacation Pilot Episode Draft 6
Something in the Water Draft 2
Working Title: Depressed Cheerleaders Draft 6.5
Happy Hour Pilot Episode Draft 11
I continued through the drawer to find that folder after folder was full of what appeared to be unsold scripts.
Some half complete. Some marked up so heavily with red that the pages looked like a crime scene.
And all of it had been marked as trash. There were a handful of floppy disks too, but most of the scripts were hard copies from a typewriter.
Going through my mother’s belongings had been a Herculean task.
And similar to Leonard, Mom had prepared to die.
Yet there was still so much to sort. I knew the danger of being overly sentimental and keeping things that would only one day become my own trash.
But these pages . . . The thought of seeing them tossed and then never seen again made my stomach turn.
What would I even do with them? They couldn’t be sold—at least not by me—but to see them just forgotten left me hollow and aching.
Maybe I could digitize them. I could at least read them. That felt like something.
In the kitchen, as I searched for an empty box, I found the Marfa, Texas, mug he’d served me a cup of coffee in that first day I came to his apartment.
Even though it was in a box with a blue tag, I decided no one would miss this one memento if I took it with me.
At least I’d have something of Leonard’s after I undoubtedly killed his cactus.
After consolidating the packed kitchen appliances to free up a box, I filled it with the contents of the filing cabinet and decided to head home.
It was well past lunchtime, and I needed to drop this box off before I could get back to my office and set up for the Marijuana as Medicine presentation tonight.
As I closed the door, a familiar voice drawled, “Knocked down in his prime, wasn’t he?”
I shook my head, hiking the box up with my knee before looking over to see Ruby sitting on the bench between her and Leonard’s places.
“I’m so glad you can see the humor in Leonard’s death,” I said, every syllable falling flat.
“This is familiar territory for us,” she said. “I’m so very sorry for not responding to Leonard’s death with one of the three Vera-approved reactions.”
“I’m not doing this with you right now.”
“We could just wait until I die,” she said. “With Leonard gone, I suspect I won’t be far behind. He and I always did have similar timing.”
She was hurting. I could see that. But I’d spent so much time after Mom’s death catering to Ruby and her grief. I couldn’t do it again.
“Sure, Ruby,” I said. “Sounds great.”
And then I took my stolen coffee mug and the scripts I couldn’t bring myself to let go of and I left.
Mom had made Ruby and me promise to take care of each other after she was gone, but maybe the best way for us to care for ourselves now was without each other.