Page 33 of Don’t Tell Me How to Die

THIRTY-ONE

the day of the funeral

“Slide the wide end of the tie through the front loop to create the base of the knot,” the reassuring voice on the YouTube video said.

Kevin Dunn did as instructed. Like most teenage boys, he sucked at tying a tie, but like any other challenge Kevin faced in life, he was determined to figure it out on his own.

If you ask for help , he said silently to his image in the mirror, the tie wins .

“Now pull the narrow end of the tie until the knot is tight at your neck,” the voice continued. “Pinch the knot to create a dimple, adjust your shirt collar, and slide the narrow end of the tie through the loop at the back of the wide end.”

For the fifth time that morning Kevin did exactly that.

“If the tip of your tie is resting just at the top of your beltline, you’ve got the perfect length, and you are looking sharp.”

Moment of truth. He stepped back and looked in the mirror.

“Yes!” he said, pumping a fist in the air. “Dunn nails it in five! A personal best.”

He went to the window and scanned the street. There were three news vans and maybe twenty or thirty neighbors standing outside waiting for the family to come out.

There was a bang on his bedroom door. “Yo, Kev!”

“I’m busy,” he called out. Not that that would stop her. Kevin was the good child. His twin sister always did what she wanted.

The door opened, and Katie Dunn stepped inside. Black dress, black scarf, black nails, black lipstick, red sneakers. The girl never missed an opportunity to make a statement.

She stood in the doorway and giggled. A classic Katie tell. She was stoned.

“What do you call a kid whose parents both die?” she asked.

“An orphan,” he said, indulging her.

“What do call him if only one parent dies?”

“I give up.”

“Horphan. Half an orphan. That’s what we are. I made it up.” She unleashed another round of giggles.

“Really, Katie?” Kevin said. “Today of all days? Why would you get high?”

“Weed is medicinal. It helps people cope with their grief.”

“The whole town is going to be looking at us,” Kevin said. “You think the reporters will be stupid enough to think you’re coping ? They’re just going to say that Mayor Dunn’s idiot daughter was crunked out of her gourd. Where did you get the weed?”

“Dad’s office. That’s where they keep it. It’s legal, in case you hadn’t heard.”

She lifted Kevin’s jacket from the back of his desk chair and produced a little baggie from the folds of her scarf.

“I rolled one for later,” she said, tucking it into one of his pockets. She tossed him the jacket.

“So now I’m the one who’s holding,” he said, putting it on.

“Right. If we get caught, we’ll both make the front page.”

Kevin stepped in front of the mirror. Black jacket, charcoal-gray pants, deep-purple shirt, black tie with pencil-thin gray stripes—exactly like the picture he’d found on Google images.

“You look totally handsome,” Katie burbled.

He couldn’t remember the last time she’d said anything remotely nice to him. Further proof that she was totally wasted.

But he knew he looked good. That was his biggest problem.

Not yet sixteen, he was already six feet tall—two inches shorter than their father. He’d also inherited their father’s strong jawline, expressive hazel eyes, and engaging smile, but while Alex Dunn used his good looks to charm his way through life, Kevin was uncomfortable with the fact that female heads turned when he walked into a classroom. Faculty included.

Of all the skills Kevin Dunn had yet to master, the most intimidating was how to deal with women.

He turned away from the mirror and went to the window.

“Chill out,” Katie said. “They’ll get here when they get here.”

She plopped down on his bed. “Guess what else I found in Dad’s office?”

“I don’t care.”

“Dad wrote a eulogy for Mom,” she said.

“Jesus... Katie.”

“It was just sitting there in his computer, so I read it.”

“How did you get into Dad’s...”

“Oh, Kevin, don’t be an idiot. I figured out his password three years ago. It’s I-Love-Katie-Best.”

Kevin ignored the dig and went straight for the trespass violation. “You’ve been looking at Dad’s private stuff for three years ?”

“Not the work stuff. Just things about the family. ’Specially emails between him and Mom. I like to keep tabs on what they know about stuff we do.”

“ We ?” Kevin snapped. “Yeah, they would really freak out if they knew I brought two books back late to the library last month. You’re the one who gets stupid drunk with your lacrosse team—Oh, shit. Here they come.”

Katie tottered to the window as the procession pulled up. Two motorcycle cops, Chief Vanderbergen’s SUV, two long black Cadillac limos from Kehoe’s Funeral Home, a fire truck festooned with flowers, a Heartstone ambulance draped with black bunting, and, bringing up the rear, at least twenty more bikes—all Harleys—Grandpa Finn’s crew.

The crowd on the street had doubled. Almost every one of them—friends, neighbors, reporters—were recording the moment for posterity.

“Cool,” Katie said.

“Not cool,” Kevin, shaking his head. “We can’t even die like normal people.”

“We’re not normal, bro. We’re Heartstone royalty. Maybe by the time you’re my age, you’ll finally understand that.”

Kevin gave her the finger. They were twins, but Katie never missed an opportunity to rub in the fact that she squeezed through the birth canal seven minutes sooner than he did. And she’d been pushing him around ever since.

She pressed her face to the window. “You know, you’re right, Kev. It’s not that cool. If I were running the show, I’d definitely have had a marching band, lots of balloons, and a clown car.”

Kevin couldn’t help himself. He laughed. And then, staring down at the somber motorcade, the laugh caught in his throat and turned to sobs.

The sound that came out of him started as a low moan, built into a mournful cry, and crescendoed into a heart-rending wail.

“It’s not fair!” he screamed in a hoarse whisper. “It’s not fair!”

Katie reached for him, and he let his heaving body fall into her arms.

“I didn’t know I was gonna cry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, bro.” Katie said, rocking him gently. “This will fix you up.”

She retrieved the joint from his jacket pocket and lit it.

Kevin took a long, slow pull, coughed twice, exhaled, puffed again, and passed it back to his sister.

“You feeling better now?” Katie asked.

Kevin nodded, a sweet smile on his face.

“I hope so,” she said, “because our entire reserve supply of recreational drugs is about to go up in smoke.”

He laughed. “Sorry. I feel like such a pussy for crying like a baby.”

“You are a pussy,” she said, inhaling and ashing the joint like a pro. “Always have been.”

He laughed again. “One dead possum, and I’m branded for life.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Shit,” Kevin whispered.

“Chill out, bro.” Katie said. “What are they going to do? Tell us we can’t go to the funeral?” She turned to the door. “Who is it?”

“It’s your aunt. The one with the keen sense of smell. Can I come in? We don’t have to talk. I’m happy to just inhale.”

Aunt Lizzie was one of the cool ones. “Come in,” Katie yelled.

Their mom’s sister pushed the door open and quickly closed it behind her. “Oh, good,” she said. “You all got the memo. Wear black. We’ll fit right in with this whole funeral thing.” She took in Katie’s red sneakers. “Nice touch with the kicks.”

Katie responded with a hair toss. “Fashionistas do not cave to grief.”

“I’ve been sent to inform you that we’re leaving for the funeral home in fifteen minutes.”

“Can’t wait,” Katie said.

Lizzie sat down on the bed. “What are you guys doing? I mean, besides the obvious.”

“Just calming our nerves,” Katie said, passing the joint to her aunt. “And reminiscing about our youth.”

“I hate to break it to you, kids,” Lizzie said. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. “But this is your youth.”

“We were thinking about ten years ago,” Katie said. “The dead possum in the attic.”

Lizzie gave them a blank stare. “What dead possum?”

Kevin’s head jerked up. “Are you serious? Mom never told you her famous roadkill-in-the-attic story? Katie and I were like five and a half when it happened.”

Lizzie shook her head. “Your mom never told me anything that would make her look like she was guilty of bad parenting. And dead marsupials and small children sound like they have the makings of a serious maternal failing.”

She took a second puff and passed the joint to Kevin. “Tell all.”

He took a short hit and gave it to his sister. “It was a hot, hot summer day,” he said. “Me and Mom and Katie came back from a picnic at Magic Pond.”

“Monkey Paws and strawberry lemonade?” Lizzie said.

“Is there anything else?” Kevin said. “It’s like part of our heritage.”

Lizzie responded with a thumbs-up. “So far she’s sounding like a Gold Star Mommy.”

“Anyway, we pull into the garage, and the whole place smells like the Land of a Million Farts, so I say, ‘Who cut the cheese?’ And then Mom turns around, and she says...”

They had choregraphed their routine years ago. Kevin gestured to his twin.

“It’s not cheese, my little chickadees,” Katie croaked in her scariest wicked-old-witch voice. “There’s something dead overhead. Which one of you is brave enough to go up to the attic and check it out?”

“This is where the dead possum comes in,” Lizzie said.

“Almost,” Katie said. “So I say, ‘Me, me, me. I want to go up there.’ But my wuss brother is too chicken.”

“I wasn’t chicken. I hated the smell.”

“So Mom says, ‘Let’s all go upstairs and see who makes it back alive.’”

“Creepy in some circles,” Lizzie said. “But if you know anything about how your mom and I were raised, that still qualifies as perfectly normal parenting.”

“Anyway, I go up first,” Katie said, “and there it is, all bloated and rotting in the heat, with hundreds of black flies feeding on his carcass.”

“Dead possum,” Lizzie said.

“Roadkill in the attic. Totally gross,” Katie said. “Guess what happened next?”

“You realize, of course, that I’m a doctor,” Lizzie said. “Stifling hot attic, no ventilation, nervous five-year-old boy who just stuffed himself with peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches on cinnamon swirl raisin bread, and washed it down with pink lemonade. I’m going to go with little Kevin barfed his brains out.”

“All over little Katie. Big, thick, slimy brown chunks,” Katie said.

“In my defense,” Kevin said, “she was holding up that fuzzy, germ-infested ball of death. What was I supposed to do?”

“Did your mother at least clean you up?” Lizzie said.

“I took a twenty-minute shower. Mom washed my hair twice before I calmed down and twice more before I decided I no longer smelled like vomit and dead possum.”

“Quick doctor question—any emotional scars or PTSD as a result of your horrifying childhood incident?”

Katie shook her head. “No. We’re just regular fucked-up teenagers whose parents are both local luminaries.”

“ Were ! Not are,” Kevin said. “They were local luminaries. We’re down to our last luminary.”

“Thank you, Brother Buzzkill,” Katie said. “We’re out of weed, and you just harshed my mellow.”

“Bite me, Katie!”

“Hey!” Lizzie snapped before Katie could counter. “Did I mention that I was a doctor?”

Silence.

“I can write a scrip for this shit.” She pulled a baggie out of her purse and tossed it to Katie. “Here you go, kid. Roll us one for the road.”