30

THE INTERIOR OF THE CAR WAS COMPLETELY SILENT AS GARY PULLED INTO A parking lot next to a tiny one-story building with a white stucco exterior. Floor-length windows looked out onto a small yard lined by a row of knee-high hedges. Next to the hedges was a sign: JONES FUNERAL HOME.

Gary parked the car, and he and Beth stepped out. A moment later, the rear door opened and Sarah exited. All three of them wore black—Gary in a suit, Sarah in a sleeveless dress, Beth in a maternity dress she’d borrowed from a friend. The dress stretched tightly over the bump of her stomach, looking as if it had been intended for someone who was four or five months pregnant, not eight.

Beth hooked her arm into Gary’s and they walked across the parking lot, Sarah at their side. At the funeral-home entrance, Gary held open the door and followed the women inside. They stepped into a small room with a soft, prerecorded piano melody playing from a few speakers. Directly past the entrance was a table covered with a white cloth, an open sign-in book and a black ballpoint pen resting on top of the cloth. On the other side of the room was a rectangular casket with a light brown finish.

They approached it. Rod’s embalmed body lay on the silver satin lining sewn into the interior. His eyes were closed and his skin was pale, not quite white, but much lighter than normal. He was dressed in a suit, his hands crossed over his chest, looking as if he’d fallen asleep midprayer. His hair was slicked down and brushed over his forehead, covering the entry wound from the bullet that took his life.

“Welcome.”

Gary turned around. An older man with kind, weary eyes stood behind them. Gary recognized him as Mr. Jones, the director of the funeral home. They’d met with him yesterday to plan Rod’s funeral.

“Do you have any questions?” Mr. Jones asked.

Beth shook her head. Sarah wasn’t even looking at the funeral director. Her eyes were fixed on Rod’s body.

“No questions right now,” Gary said.

“Very well. I’ll check on you from time to time, but I’ll be in the room on the other side of those doors for most of the service,” Mr. Jones said, pointing at a set of oak double doors. “Please come get me if there’s anything you need.” He gave them a brief, curt smile and excused himself.

“Are you two ready?” Gary asked, turning back to the women.

Beth nodded. Sarah didn’t move. Her eyes remained focused on the casket, staring at Rod’s body as if in a trance.

“Are you ready, Sarah?” Gary asked, as he lightly touched her forearm.

“Yeah,” she said.

She didn’t look like she was ready. Her skin was pallid, washed-out, a faded photograph. Her eyes were vacant and her mouth was a straight line; she looked like a smile would never cross her lips again. The skin under her nose was red, rubbed raw from blowing her nose over the past few days.

Gary guided Sarah to the entrance and Beth followed; they all stood next to the table with the sign-in book and waited for people to arrive.

Though it was taking place at a funeral home, Rod’s funeral wouldn’t be a service in the traditional sense. Instead, they’d decided to hold a small visitation to give people the chance to pay their respects and say their final good-byes. They’d spent the previous day planning it out, though there wasn’t all that much to plan. There would be no speech from a pastor or singing of hymns. Considering the circumstances—that everyone in the city believed Rod murdered Devon Peterson—Gary, Beth, and Sarah agreed that a small private gathering would be best.

Once the funeral was over, Rod would be buried in a local cemetery, in a plot next to their parents’ headstone.

•   •   •

TWELVE THIRTY—THE OFFICIAL START TIME OF THE FUNERAL—CAME AND went. They stood together next to the sign-in table as one o’clock passed, then one fifteen.

The first guests arrived just after that. Gary’s high school English teacher and her husband. They offered their condolences. After they left, three people who said they knew Rod “from the bar” arrived, though Gary had no idea which bar they were referencing.

An hour in, Beth pulled over a chair and sat down. She slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes a few times.

“You’re doing all right?” Gary asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “These shoes barely fit before the pregnancy. With the swelling, they’re worse.”

After stretching out her toes, Beth closed her eyes, ran a hand across her forehead, and massaged her temples.

“Is it a headache, Beth?” Gary asked.

“I’m fine. Just exhausted.”

A few more people trickled in as time passed—some of Gary’s former coworkers, a group of nurses who attended to Beth at the hospital, a few people who had gone to high school with Rod.

During a lull in the funeral, Gary turned to Sarah. “How are you doing?” he asked. “This isn’t too much?”

“I’m fine.”

“If you need to step away or take a break, you can.”

“Gary, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

There was a snappiness to her words. He’d noticed the same hard, bitter edge to everything she said yesterday, as they planned the funeral. Her heartbroken grief in the moments after Rod’s death had given way to a cold, distant anger.

“Just let me know if you need anything, Sarah,” Gary said.

She silently looked away from him.

More time passed. The guests arrived at the rate of a group or two every fifteen minutes, each staying for no longer than a few minutes. Most of Gary, Beth, and Sarah’s time was spent together in the funeral home, just the three of them standing around with the light piano melody droning on from the speakers.

Guests continued to trickle in as another hour passed.

“I meant to tell you,” Sarah said to Gary during a slow period. “You can have all his clothes.”

“Clothes?”

“Rod’s clothes. I have closets full of his clothes, and I have no idea what to do with them. Might as well just give them to you.”

“We weren’t even the same size. I don’t—”

“Just take them, Gary. I don’t want them in the house.”

There it was again. That hard, bitter edge to her voice.

“You sure you’re doing okay, Sarah?”

She didn’t answer. She stared out at the funeral floor, as if the question hadn’t registered.

“Sarah, are you—”

“I heard you the first time.”

Her gaze wandered over to Rod’s casket, on the other side of the room.

“No,” she said. “I’m not doing all right. Not at all.”

She locked eyes with Gary. To Gary, it seemed like something had changed—a crack in her steely expression, a hint of vulnerability behind her distant gaze.

“Everything’s falling apart, Gary,” she said. “Falling apart? No, everything’s already fallen apart. My life has crumbled to the ground, and I don’t know what to do.”

She shook her head. “My phone wouldn’t stop ringing last night,” she said. “Someone must’ve found my number online, passed it around or something. All night long, people called and left harassing messages. Some of the things these people said . . . Just vile, horrible stuff. Cop killer. Scumbag. Rot in hell.”

Gary nodded. They’d received a few phone calls, too.

“You know what else happened?” Sarah said. “Somebody threw a brick through the front window of my yoga studio. Completely shattered the window. And fifteen people canceled their memberships yesterday. A few have family in the police force, and they told me they don’t want to be around people like me. People like me—as if I’m involved in this, like I’m guilty by association. There were five more cancellations this morning. I’m going to have to close the studio. I put so much work into that business. Invested so much time, money, effort—everything. And now it’s over.”

“I know it’s tough now, but things will get better with time,” Gary said, putting an arm around her shoulder.

“They won’t,” she said. She took a step away to slip out of his embrace.

“They will, Sarah,” he said, but he knew she was right. Time could only do so much. This wound was far too deep for the mere passage of time to heal it. This wound was permanent, one that would affect them all for the rest of their lives.

Sarah’s eyes drifted over to the casket. She stared at it for a long moment.

“You know, I still don’t believe the story,” she said. “The story about Rod being involved in drugs. Killing the police officer. The whole thing just doesn’t add up.”

“It’s tough to hear, I know,” Gary said. He hoped Sarah would stop there, but she didn’t.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” she continued. “Rod had some second life? A life he kept secret from me, from you, from everyone? If Rod was up to something, I would’ve known about it. You would’ve known about it. He would’ve mentioned something. Or acted differently. But there was nothing.”

Sarah went silent, her eyes staying on the casket. Then she turned back to Gary. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sure I sound ridiculous, don’t I? Like the police framed Rod or someone set him up. Like there was some big conspiracy or something.”

“It’s best not to think about it too much, Sarah,” Gary said. “Just try to move on.”

Beth rose from the chair a few feet away and walked over to them, barefoot. The light, low piano melody played on through the speakers.

“You’ll be able to get through this,” Beth said to Sarah.

“I don’t know. I really don’t.”

“You have to remember the good times with Rod. The happy memories.”

“I’m too busy figuring out how to put my life back together to remember the good times.”

“We’ll be here for you,” Beth said. “You know that. Together we can get through this.”

“Maybe someday I’ll be able to piece everything together. But right now, my business is sunk. My reputation is ruined. It feels like my life is over.”

She slowly shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe any of it.

•   •   •

NO GUESTS SHOWED UP FOR THE FINAL HALF HOUR OF THE FUNERAL. At three thirty, the soft piano music abruptly cut out. Mr. Jones returned and made small talk for a minute. After handing them a pamphlet titled “Moving On: The Next Steps,” he led them toward the exit.

Before they walked outside, Gary looked back at Rod’s casket. From the other side of the room, he could just barely see Rod’s body inside.

“Do you mind if I get some time alone with him before we go?” Gary asked.

“Of course,” Beth said.

Sarah nodded. The women exited, Mr. Jones with them, leaving Gary by himself. He walked across the silent room. When he reached the casket, he looked down at Rod’s body. Rod looked so distinguished, so serious in his suit.

“I’m sorry, Rod,” Gary said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Gary placed his hand on the edge of the casket and left it there. Rod’s death was a tragedy; using any other word to describe it seemed insufficient. Gary had lost his younger brother, his best friend. Sarah had lost her husband, her soul mate.

“I’m sorry, Rod,” he whispered again. His final apology.

He stared down at his brother’s still body. He had so much more to say, but if he kept talking he didn’t know if he’d ever stop.

Gary felt emotion flood throughout his body but the tears didn’t come. He was too drained for tears.

“KNOW WHY I’M CALLING?”

Standing in the basement of Solid Gold Pawn, Otto held his phone to his ear. He hadn’t recognized the number on his phone, but he recognized Carlos’s voice immediately; must’ve been calling from a burner. The last time Carlos phoned, the call had ended with Otto watching a video of a man about to be decapitated by a chainsaw.

He hoped this call would end on a more positive note.

“Yeah,” Otto said into the phone. “I got a pretty good idea of why you’re calling. The money, right?”

“Nah, I’m calling to get some financial advice. I’m thinking about buying some Apple stock, wanted to get your thoughts.” Carlos scoffed. “Of course I’m calling about the money,” he said. “What you owe De La Fuente. The two hundred large you bitched out on last time we met.”

“I remember.”

“You said you couldn’t pay ’cause of some problem going on.”

“The problem’s been taken care of.”

“So you got the money?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

“You ain’t fucking with me, right? ’Cause I’m gonna be up in your area in three days. If you don’t have the money, De La Fuente will—”

“Gimme a second.”

Otto put the call on hold and walked over to a safe pushed against the basement wall, nearly hidden by the cardboard boxes and merchandise piled around it. He spun the combination and pulled open the door.

Inside the safe was $270,000 cash. All one-hundred dollar bills in small bundles of ten thousand dollars, stacked in the safe like a small foothill.

Otto grabbed twenty of the bundles and carried them over to the table in the middle of the room. He threw the bundles of money on it and snapped a picture with his phone. He messaged the picture to Carlos.

“See the picture I just sent?” Otto said, returning to the call.

“I saw it.”

“Show that to De La Fuente. Let him know there ain’t nothing to worry about.”

“Have the cash waiting for me. I’ll see you in three days.” Carlos ended the call.

Otto slid his phone into his pocket. He grabbed the bundles of money off the table and threw them back inside the safe. Before closing the door, he stared at the pile of money.

There it was. Two hundred seventy thousand dollars. Damn near every last cent to his name, right inside that safe. It was a lot of money, but the expression on his face remained impassive; the sight of large sums of money had long ago ceased to impress him.

Over the past few days, Otto collected on all the debts dealers had with him, emptied out his bank accounts, and liquidated some of the higher-dollar items in the pawnshop. He took all the money he’d rounded up—about seventy thousand dollars—and added it to the two hundred grand already stored in the safe.

It was time to end it all.

Time to give up this life and get out while he could. This mess with Devon Peterson had been too close for comfort. It was time to leave the drug game behind, get away from this decaying piece-of-shit city, and start over somewhere else. Somewhere warm.

Otto closed the safe door and spun the combination. He walked over to a shelf and grabbed a large jug of paint thinner nestled among the stacks of cardboard boxes. After taking care of his debt with De La Fuente, he’d have seventy thousand dollars left. Not bad, but not enough to begin a new life. To fix that, Otto planned on dousing Solid Gold Pawn in paint thinner and burning the place to the ground. Like any good business owner, he was insured. He’d be looking at a settlement well into the six figures. Add that to the leftover cash in the safe, and it was more than enough to start over.

He set the jug of paint thinner on the table and returned to the pawnshop’s first floor. He looked out the window at another cold, dreary day. Yep, moving somewhere warm sounded nice. As soon as Carlos arrived to pick up the money for De La Fuente, he’d torch this place and leave this city for good.

“THAT WAS SAD,” BETH SAID THE MOMENT THEY ARRIVED HOME AFTER Rod’s funeral.

Gary kicked his dress shoes onto the rug inside the front door. Beth stepped out of her flats. They carried their shoes down the hallway to the bedroom.

“I don’t know which was worse: the funeral or the fact that barely forty people showed up,” Gary said.

“A lot of people were busy, I’m sure. We only gave them a day’s notice.”

Gary didn’t respond. He knew they could’ve given plenty of advance notice and the turnout would’ve been the same. In the eyes of most people, Rod wasn’t some poor, innocent civilian who’d unfairly lost his life. Rod was caught up with some bad people; he was a cop killer. And his poor decisions ultimately led to his death.

It was amazing to Gary how many people had blindly believed that. How few of them questioned the story, or challenged the idea that Rod could do something so horrible. Everyone had abandoned Rod, distanced themselves from him. Everyone except Sarah—on the drive home, she’d mentioned again that she thought there was more to Rod’s death. It unnerved Gary, hearing her talk about her suspicions, but he was too sad to worry about it now.

In the bedroom, Beth set her flats in her closet and turned her back toward Gary. “Unzip me?” she said. She bunched her hair in her hands, exposing the back of her neck. Once out of the dress, Beth slipped into an orange sweatshirt and a pair of yoga pants, her belly hanging low and heavy over the waistband.

Gary set his shoes onto the ground in his closet. He loosened the tie around his neck and slipped it off. One by one, he took off the rest of his funeral attire: his suit, his socks, his button-up shirt. He moved sluggishly, every action slow and deliberate. There was a huge block of pain lodged beneath his chest. Was it the weight of guilt causing the pain? The stress from everything that had happened?

Or perhaps it was just a broken heart. That seemed the most likely explanation. His throat tightened as he thought back to the funeral; he nearly started crying. The entire funeral felt like one giant mistake, like something they shouldn’t have even bothered with. It wasn’t a beautiful celebration of Rod’s life, a remembrance of the joy he’d brought to others. Instead, it was just a sad affair that few people showed up to.

Rod deserved so much better.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Beth said. She walked over to the bed and lay down, pulling up the sheet over her belly. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back onto the pillow.

From across the bedroom, Gary stared at her. Beth had spent nearly all of the funeral sitting in a chair, only standing when a visitor arrived. She claimed her feet were sore, but Gary wasn’t sure if that was the whole story. He’d caught her grabbing her forehead and wincing a few times, but each time he asked her about it, she insisted she was fine.

He walked over to the bed and sat down next to Beth. She opened her eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?” Gary asked. He reached down and brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.

“I’m just tired,” she said. “It’s been an exhausting day.”

“It’s more than exhaustion, Beth. I can tell you have a headache. If it’s bad, we should go to the hospital, get you checked out.”

“If I went to the hospital every time I had a headache, I’d be there a few times a day.” She smiled a barely-there smile, closed her eyes, and turned to the side.

Gary remained sitting on the bed, staring down at her.

Beth.

So much had happened, so much tragedy, and it had all been for Beth. And yet even with everything that had occurred, her life still hung in the balance. At any time, he could lose her. Just as quick as a light switch being flipped off, she could be gone.

If Rod’s death had crushed him, losing Beth would annihilate him, blow him away. Grief would consume him for the rest of his life. The emptiness would be too much to bear.

Gary stared at the back of Beth’s head. He thought about the time bomb inside her skull, the time bomb that continued to tick away.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.