Page 77 of Only the Devil

“Hi, sweets.”

I pause. I haven’t asked about the callback—she’ll tell me if there’s good news. But I’m betting there isn’t. It’ll shock the hell out of me if she ever hears from them. If she had an agent, the agent could bug the shit out of them, but chances are hundreds of actors read for that part. Which is why I should be so grateful I scored a lotto-level gig.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Yeah. Why?” She never asks me that.

“Hmm. Nothing. Look, I got a letter today. It was weird. Reed’s relative writing me and asking if I agreed with the inscription on his tombstone. She said that I knew him better than she did, and she wanted to check with me. But really, you knew him best.”

“She wrote a letter? Like with a stamp?”

“Yes.” Mom snickers and across the line it sounds like heavy, muffled breathing. “I’m guessing she’s elderly. The handwriting was a little shaky.”

“Wouldn’t it just be his name and the dates of his birth and death?” I ask, already wishing we weren’t having this conversation.

“That’s an option. But the package you purchased includes an engraved quote on the marker. You’ve already paid for it. You might as well say something.”

I don’t really want to think about this. My head falls back and my gaze rises to the ceiling and the spiderwebs in the corners. I should probably get a broom and knock those down. That’s gross.

“But you don’t have to,” Mom says, reminding me she’s still on the line.

“Let me think on it.” I squeeze my shoulder, digging my fingers into the sore muscle that’s been bothering me.

“You can just do?—”

“He deserves something. Just… Is there a deadline?”

“She didn’t say, but…you know you paid for everything. The cemetery should communicate with you.”

“I don’t think it’s the cemetery. It’s the funeral home. I picked his coffin but asked them to contact his next of kin for other stuff.” There’d been a video and I can’t remember what else.

“Well, you’d think as his next of kin she’d ask about reimbursing you. But she didn’t.”

“I wanted to pay.” The only way to know Uncle Alvin would receive the burial he deserved was to pay for it. It gave me some control. He wasn’t my blood relative, but he was my family. The dad I didn’t have.

What would he think if he saw me now? Writing code for a questionable enterprise. He used to say doing right wasn’t supposed to be convenient.

“You know, I think I mentioned this, but he was a veteran. You may be entitled for a discount or reimbursement or?—”

“It’s not a big deal, Mom.”

“Well, yeah, now it’s definitely not. Now that you’ve got so much money,” I tense, knowing from the change in her tone what’s coming. “I am really overdue on headshots. You know, they can make or break you. And there’s this fantastic photographer. I’ve never been able to afford her before, but she does?—”

“Book her. I’ll pay.”

“Really? Oh, sweetie, thank you so much. That’s huge.”

She goes on and on, and I half-listen, waiting for the funk to lessen, but it doesn’t. I just feel like shit.

The door opens and Jake steps out, a glass of water in his hand, which he extends, offering it to me.

“Mom, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

I set the phone beneath my thigh and take the glass from Jake, but then stand, pushing him backwards into the condo.

He gives me a questioning glance.

I kick the door closed behind me and set the glass down on the coffee table.