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“This whole thing makes you pretty fuckable.”

He grabs my hand and kisses my thumb. “What else?”

“I miss Zeb,” I say, the words nearly cracking me in two. “And he would love that you did this.”

He makes an agreeing sound. “He’d hate the jump roping though.”

Around us people laugh and gloved fists smack bags. Ford’s right, Zeb would have hated the jump roping.

On the drive home, I take the long way, driving by Glory’s, the overgrown cross on the side of the road, and the house in the subdivision where the shadows of three silhouettes move arounda dining room table. I don’t stop at any of them, but for the first time in years, I’m not mad either.

Twenty-Four

“Wegottaredothiswhole thing, miss,” the man says with a Hispanic accent. Pedro, according to the name embroidered on his shirt. “Wiring’s shot. What isn’t is out of code.” He shrugs, like no big deal.

I blow out my breath, check my watch, and look around the disaster of a house. “The whole house? How much?”

He shrugs. “We bill after. Policy.”

A text comes through from Wanda.Body ain’t gonna burn itself, honey.

I respond with a shorton my way.

“Fine,” I snap. “How long?”

Another shrug. “Couple days. Maybe less. Maybe more.”

Vince specifically said everything needed to be brought up to code for optimum resale; I don’t have a choice. It doesn’t stop me from imagining Pedro in a cremation box sliding into the retort with a gag in his mouth.

“Whatever.” I huff. “I have to go; I’ll be back this afternoon.”

He shrugs.Again.

I hustle out of the house; Ford and Wren are in the driveway, stopping me halfway to the Bronco. “Hey,” I say, rushed. Ford’s in athletic pants and a T-shirt; Wren’s wearing yoga pants and a long-sleeve shirt. I eye her arms; she rolls her eyes. I throw my purse into the back seat. “What are y’all doing here? In the middle of a Friday morning?”

“Wren didn’t have school today and I took the day off. We wanted to see if you were free. Go for a hike.”

“Another date so soon, Officer?” I bat my eyelashes.

“I’m standing right here,” Wren announces.

Ford wraps an arm around her in an obnoxious hug.

“And I was just about to hump his leg.” Wren gags. “But I have work . . . actually, you should come.”

Theirthat’s weirdexpressions are identical. I laugh. “Get in. It’ll be fun.” When they hesitate, I bark, “Now!”

It’s Dondi’s turn to pick the music, so naturally Bob Marley is singing “Every Little Thing Is Gonna Be Alright” over the speakers as we stand around the man in the cardboard casket. He’s in a suit—one that I bought from the thrift store—and looks just as lively as everyone else Wanda works on. In his fifties, he was unclaimed in the morgue.

“His name is Leonard,” I announce as we look down at him. “And we’re going to tell our favorite story about him.”

“I don’t know this guy!” Ford says, like I’m ridiculous.

I shoot him a look. “For those of you that don’t know”—I pause for emphasis—“when someone doesn’t have family, we speak as though we were his family. Or friends. And tell a happy story he might have had.”

“The Dondinator will start us off,” Dondi says with a smile that showcases the gap in his teeth. “Leo, that one time we went snowboarding you shredded it in the snow. Totally epic.” Dondi snaps his fingers as if to emphasize the epicness. “And the face-plant at the end—you were a legend in the powder, my man. Black diamonds. All. Day. Long.”

Wren looks at me like she might laugh but manages to keep herself in check.