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And at my very lowest moments when his absence is the loudest, I hate him. For all of it.

“What have you been doing?” Smoke leaks out of her mouth with each word. “You have cuts on your hands. That part of your ridiculous job burning all those bodies? You should hear what my friends say about that. They think you’re a freak.”

“Can’t wait to meet them.” I pick up my purse and open the door, tossing the bags of trash onto the porch in hopes she’ll eventually get them to the trailer park dumpster. “I got a house. On the lake.”

“On the lake?” She stills mid-drag. “How’d you afford that?”

“It was given to me.” I roll my shoulders. “By a friend.”

Her eyes narrow.

“Archie Watkins and his wife Lydia,” I explain. “You know them?”

She jolts upright in her recliner and snatches the cigarette from her mouth, glaring.

“Never heard of them.” Her voice has a harder edge than usual.

Okay.

“Well, Archie died, and he wanted me to have it.”

She says nothing, staring blankly at the TV as she nibbles on her lip, smoke from the ass end of her cigarette swirling into the air.

I don’t know what she’s thinking. I also don’t care.

“Go figure they’d give you a house on the lake while I’m stuck here,” she finally says, resettling into her recliner. “What you wanna live on that lake for anyway? Mosquitoes are as big as bald eagles.” I roll my eyes. “Figures you’d live there though. Fancy clothes. Fancy job. Hoity lake house. It’s like you live your life tryin’ to make me look bad.”

“Got me,” I say dryly.

“Figured as much.” She looks at me, gently rocking in the oversized recliner asThe Price is Rightblares a winning bell. “It won’t work, you know.”

I frown from the doorway. “What won’t?”

“A fancy new house. Won’t change where you came from. You could run away as far as your legs could carry you—an island, a desert, a damn igloo on the top of the globe. Can’t outrun where you come from, Scotty Ann. Can’t hide from it neither.”

Her words slam into me like a wrecking ball, but I refuse to argue. Refuse to let her worm her way into my head and bore holes into my plan. I can get away from this place; I will. “Good to know.”

Cigarette wobbling on her lips, she regards me once more. “The Callahan boy is back in town. Got here earlier this year. Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch he’d take you back. You remember him, don’t ya?”

The urge to laugh in her face then smother her with a pillow is hard to contain.

“Barely.” She opens her mouth to say more, but I’m done. I’ve reached my Glory quota of hearing what a disappointment I am, how hard her life is, and God knows what she wants to say about Ford. “I’ll see you in a few weeks. Call me if you need anything. Get your own beer.”

Before I drive away, I smack the steering wheel and scream until I can’t. When the sound of fast violins fills the air, I match the speed by flooring the gas. The only thing keeping me from having a complete come apart is knowing in four more months, I’ll never have to make this trip again.

Sixteen

“YouandDondiareleaking body fluids onto my bed.”

Wanda blows and pops a bubble with a loud smack, not looking at me as she takes the long-handled broom off the rack in the cremation room. “One, it’s my bed right now. Two, and?”

“And?” I ask, incredulous. “That’s a bit—”

Dondi walks into the room with a whistle, winking at Wanda and smiling his gap-toothed grin while giving me an exaggerated bow. “The Ash Queen is in the house, and The Dondinator is here to serve”—he cuts his eyes to Wanda—“by any means necessary.”

I roll my eyes, taking a clipboard from him to sign for the body he’s brought before handing it back. He smacks Wanda on her ass, and she giggles as he walks out.

“Jesus. I spend less time here for a few weeks and you two are . . .”