Nailed Down, Page 2

  The crowd was thinning, most of the other mourners already driving away without so much as a backward glance, heading to a party Jess had planned in the event, obnoxious as it sounded, of her untimely death. That bitch planned everything in detail, even what happened the day of her funeral. I wasn’t following the rules, no matter how much I loved my cousin. I just couldn’t find the strength to walk away.

  “I was good friends with your cousin, ma’am.”

  I nodded but couldn’t bring myself to look at him or reply.

  A fresh wave of tears burned my eyes as I watched that black casket. Inside was my cousin, my best friend, and my mind could not organize thoughts and meaning with reality. She just couldn’t be gone.

  The man hovered, rearranging his feet, but otherwise, didn’t bother me. He seemed to know I needed a second to myself.

  Jess was the type of person people flocked to with her intoxicating laugh and charming smile. She never said a bad word about anyone and went out of her way to make those around her happy. The number of people who stood around her casket today was a testament to her character and infectious nature. Hell, even as a kid I was drawn to her.

  The wind kicked up, blowing my hair into my face, and I rubbed my eyes, irritated that I couldn’t keep from crying. But then, who could after their best friend died?

  Growing up, I followed Jess around like a lost puppy dog. She never once shooed me away or treated me like her little cousin, never once told me I was a nuisance for following behind her and emulating her every move. We grew older, and the age gap seemed to fade, and then we became closer than sisters.

  We were both alone and only had each other to lean on. Her parents passed in a tragic plane crash when she was in college, and my mother died a few years back from a sudden heart attack due to an undiscovered heart condition. We had no other family anymore except each other.

  The man at my side cleared his throat, probably tired of my quiet sniffling, and the noise brought my attention back to him. He had long, straight fingers with trimmed nails that I noticed when he offered me a plain white envelope. “She wanted me to give this to you.”

  The envelope had Jess’s neat, looping scribble on the front, but I couldn’t see any more than that in my peripheral vision, and I was still too numb to move much more than my eyes. I was struck dumb, zoning out on anything but the twist of the flower stem between my fingertips, even as it started to bruise from the movement. I couldn’t bring myself to let the calla lily go and place it on her casket with the others. The act was too final, too absolute. Letting it go meant she was gone, and reconciling that with reality just wasn’t happening yet.

  “I promised her I would make sure you received this.”

  Slowly, I dragged my gaze to his hand, spotting the crisp envelope he held between his fingertips. That scroll was clearer now, with “Kit Kat” across the front. She’d even written the little heart over the “I” like she always did.

  He pushed the envelope closer, slipping it between my fingertips. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said as my gaze swept to meet his. His eyes were red and puffy, similar to my own, I’d guess. That happened when you’d been crying nonstop for a solid week.

  “Sorry for your loss” was a weird expression I never understood. We lost things like purses, phones, and keys, but a person was never really lost. Jess was in that polished black casket covered in white calla lilies a foot from me. She wasn’t lost. Losing a person wasn’t the right term. It seemed so vague, so empty.

  The envelope crinkled as I gripped the pristine paper in my palm. “Who are you?”

  The man’s gaze dropped to the ground as his Adam’s apple bobbed, hiding beneath the collar of his dress shirt. “I’m Luke. Jess and I were…” He let the explanation die, shutting his eyes, and his features transformed, as though the thought of what they’d been was just too painful to explain at the moment. Finally, he exhaled, his expression relaxing before he said, “We were lovers.”

  It hit me then, looking at that handsome face. Despite the sadness of the day, the left side of my mouth twitched, recalling the things Jess mentioned about this man. She’d told me more than should have been allowed via text or email. Jess met Luke at a bar one night after work over six months ago, and their relationship moved fast, oftentimes too quick for Jess.

  “Jess spoke highly of you.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. The flat, lifelessness monotone words slipped from my tongue as if there were someone else speaking through me.

  Luke wiped the tears from his cheek, the back of his hand damp, and his cuff darkened with the motion. “I loved her, you know.”

  “I know.” I knew more than I ever wanted to know about Luke. My cousin had made sure of that. Jess didn’t keep a single fact from me, including the precise curve and girth of his penis, down to his favorite position during sex. She overshared, but I never stopped her. My insanely busy work schedule kept me off the market, and I was left letting my fantasies come alive vicariously through Jess’s filthy, filthy sexual encounters with Luke.

  “I thought we’d get married.” That seemed to pain him more than admitting he loved her, and I brushed his arm, squeezing it once.

  Her free, never-settle spirit and the burden of young loss would have likely hurt Luke, considering she might have turned him down. But then, Jess confessed that Luke was the first man who had her questioning her choice never to get attached. I understood her logic, knew it far too well. But with that loner decision came the loneliness. There was only so much work you could do to fill up your day.

  Luke cleared his throat again, reminding me he was still there, and I glanced at him, forcing a weak smile as I looked back down at the casket. “I think you were the one person who could’ve made Jess change her mind.”

  “I had a ring and was going to propose on her birthday.”

  I jerked my head up fully, and something quickened in my chest. The stabbing pain that had replaced my heart intensified. “I’m sorry.” I swallowed hard as the tears I’d thought had dried up blurred my vision.

  “She has it now,” he whispered, shaking his head as he inhaled. “I have to go. I can’t stand here anymore. It hurts too much.” He stepped back, his face contorted into something that made him look equal parts devastated and furious, and then Luke walked away.

  But I stayed where I stood, my feet rooted next to Jess. Despite the reason for being here, I didn’t want to leave and couldn’t make myself go. The thought of leaving her, of walking away, was far sadder than staying here with her.

  A worker moved in my direction wearing chunky work boots covered in mud and his hands tucked into his pockets, trying not to stare. “Ma’am, we were just about to close her up.”

  “Can I have ten more minutes, please?” I begged.

  “Sure,” he said as his gaze lingered a little too long. Maybe he knew my face but couldn’t place how he knew me, which was often the case with my being on late-night television.

  Kneeling on the ground, I clutched the envelope and flower in my hands, my attention on the casket. “Jess,” I whispered. “I don’t know how to do life without you.” Tears slid down my cheeks, dropping to the bottom of my black dress. “You can’t leave me like this.”

  The sadness morphed then, became something overwhelming, something that felt like a weight heavy on my chest. She was gone. With the snap of my finger, the blink of my eye, my best friend, my only family was gone. That sadness changed my cry; it grew, mingled into a guttural sob, and I became breathless, the grief hitting me in waves, growing with each second.

  “Why?” I asked the sky above me, feeling helpless, faithless, wondering if whatever higher power that was up there could hear me. If it cared at all that my heart was breaking. “Fucking why?”

  The flower broke in two as I doubled over, hands on my face. The stem bent in my palm, brittle now as the delicate white top tumbled to the grass. The envelope bit into my flesh, reminding me I still had one final piece of Jess left.

&n
bsp; The heavy scent of her perfume caught on the breeze when I tore into the envelope and pulled out the soft pink pages. There was a crinkle in the center, but I’d managed not to damage the letter too badly. I was hungry for her words, desperate for this last connection to Jess. I scanned the black ink, flipping through the pages, wishing there were more. I took a deep breath and blinked a few times and read the first line.

  * * *

  My Kit Kat,

  If you’re reading this, that means I’ve kicked it. God, that must suck. Hopefully, I went out naked, orgasming so hard my brain melted. Possibly with a bottle of Jack in one hand and my fingers nestled in Luke’s deliciously wavy hair as he kneeled in front of me and… Well. I’ll try to retain some semblance of dignity seeing as how these are probably my last words.

  “Here lies Jessica. She died with a stupid grin on her face.”

  Sorry, couldn’t resist.

  If I have indeed bitten it, there are things I want to say to you. I won’t go on and on and write a monologue that is profound and tear-jerking because that’s not who we are, is it? We live to laugh and laugh to live. It’s how we’ve survived. But I will tell you the single most important thing I can…the thing I’ve wanted to tell you for a long damn time. The thing I worried you would never figure out on your own. So, here goes:

  Kathryn Carlyle, life isn’t a dress rehearsal, and you’re stuck backstage.

  I say this with love. I say it because I’ve watched you spend the past five years of your life working and plotting and generally making everyone else’s life beautiful. Meanwhile, you stay in that tiny rental, miles from the most beautiful mountain in the world, nursing a pint of Ben & Jerry’s (Don’t deny it. I’m the one who turned you on to Half Baked) petting your Himalayan tom who is so fucking Gandalf-old he doesn’t meow, he grumbles, and not once have you done anything remotely exciting with your life. Seriously, you are the only human person alive who can land a cable show and never show up to any of the fancy Hollywood bigwig, kiss your ass, oh aren’t you fabulous, shindigs they always invite you to. Is that little cabin really that appealing?

  You start project after project with the best of intentions and never finish them. I dare you to peek into your craft/storage/work-out room without having even the smallest amount of guilt.

  I won’t even discuss the below-average sex you’ve had and how long it’s been since even those pathetic activities have happened.

  You are dynamic and beautiful and funny and brilliant and so criminally talented, and the sad thing is you don’t know it. Not really. You can make a shack look like Shangri-la, but you live in so much fear that you have no idea how old you’re becoming and how quickly that’s happening.

  Kit Kat, it’s time to live.

  I love you, and because I do, I’m giving you a gift. It was something I gave to myself ten years ago when I wasn’t all that dissimilar from you. When I was so scared of everything out there in life that I wasn’t really living at all.

  This is your bucket list. If you love me, ever really loved me, then you will complete everything on this list. It’s my last wish. My final say-so. The last bossy thing I’ll ever say to you, but it’s the most important.

  Life is a journey, and you haven’t even gotten out of bed.

  Time to pack your bags and get started.

  Don’t be sad that I’m gone, Kit Kat. Be happy I lived and loved while I was here.

  I’ll be watching.

  Jess

  “Shit,” I said, trying not to laugh at my cousin as I kneeled next to her casket, her list of demands between my fingers. Wondering how in the hell I could pull this off. “Double shit.”

  The ever-present crease between Kane’s eyebrows deepened as he stared at me, blinking slowly like I hadn’t just word-vomited a shitload of information his way. “Say that again.”

  This time, when I explained the letter, I talked slowly, hoping he caught on to the detail I gave. Wasn’t like it was difficult, but I wasn’t about to comment on that. Not to him. Not when he looked like I had spiders crawling out of my eyes.

  My dilemma explained, I smiled, hoping the big guy would think I was moderately cute, maybe feel bad for me because, clearly, I was still consumed by grief and not thinking rationally. “So, I need your help,” I told him as I rubbed my hands together as close to the vent as I could get. “You game?”

  Kane tightened his grip on the steering wheel, blinking like he still didn’t quite get what favor I’d asked as he stared at me. “I don’t know how I can help.”

  Leaning forward, I reached into my back pocket and fished out the letter before pushing it toward his face. “Read it. I can’t do all this stuff by myself. I need a wingman.”

  He stared at the paper like it was going to jump up and bite him. “So, you want me to be your wingman.”

  Seriously, it wasn’t difficult, but I pushed a smile onto my face, this one wider, and nodded toward the letter in his big hands. Kane was fearless; he never quit a job once he started it. I needed him to help me when I chickened out on completing Jess’s list. And I knew I would. She wasn’t wrong. I’d start but rarely end things I wanted for myself.

  Kane squinted, and the same, “What shit does she want me to do?” look crossed his face before I cocked an eyebrow. With a little prodding, I’d get him to agree. I always could.

  “Read it. Stop being a punk.”

  He snatched the paper from my fingers, black eyes on me as he unfolded the sheets. “You sure you want me to read this?”

  “Yes.” I sighed and rolled my eyes, pushing the paper closer to him.

  He leaned against the window, facing me as his eyes moved across the page. “I don’t know about this,” he said, glancing over the paper at me with uneasiness.

  “Did you read it all?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Keep going.”

  His profile was striking. Kane had always had the face of someone fierce. All those hard edges, all the strict discipline he used in his life—managing the crew and construction on set or handling his brother, all the work he did in the gym or on the track—showed on his angular face. His lips were large, wide, and he had a deep crease in his cupid’s bow. But his eyebrows were on the heavy side, making him seem dangerous, and there was always a smattering of stubble, all jet black, on his chin. Kane had wide shoulders, big hands, and thick thighs and not an ounce of fat on him. He reminded me of someone ancient, old features you’d see in black-and-white pictures in history books. His skin was dark and smooth, probably both from the amount of time he spent in the sun and the rich heritage given to him by his Samoan family. He was proud of who he was and where he came from, something I’d always admired about him.

  I had a pulse. I was a woman. No way anyone could look at Kane and not see how rugged, how beautiful he was. Even me, his platonic friend.

  He went still, quiet, his eyes rounding, narrowing, then growing huge again as he read, and I knew why. There was shit on that list Kane would flat out refuse to help me with because, well, that was Kane. That list scared me too. Kane took a breath, released it, then flipped the first sheet over and continued reading Jess’s last words that were only meant for me.

  Jess’s Final Say-So:

  Ten Things Kit Must Do Without Question:

  1.Go zip-lining - conquer your fear of heights, you little chicken.

  2.Buy something frivolous, and I don’t mean ice cream - See my stash in the closet safe. You know the combination. $1500 minimum.

  3.Go Whale Watching - Because I know you’re stupid for them.

  4.Find someone to give you a mind-numbing, toe-curling, can’t breathe, moan-worthy kiss that ruins you for all other men.

  5.Run the half marathon you keep saying you want to train for.

  6.Shake hands with the president.

  7.Camp out in the mountains - no RVs or campers allowed.

  8.Sing in front of a crowd of more than twenty people.

  9.Have sex with someone other than you
rself.

  10. Fall in love.

  One wide eye shot at me, and Kane folded the letter in half, shoving it back at me like he couldn’t get it out of his hands fast enough. “Sorry, Kit. Can’t help you.”

  “What?”

  “I just can’t.” He was out of his truck, door shutting closed before I could stop him. I grabbed his keys, trailing behind him as he stomped back toward the cabin.

  He wore a worn, brown Carhartt jacket that was thick and scratchy, and I managed to grab the point of his elbow, pulling him back before he made it too far from the truck. “What exactly do you mean, you can’t?”

  I’d never heard Kane say those words. Even the most impossible designs, the most elaborate architectural elements he’d take on, never batting an eye even if he’d never attempted it before. “Can’t” wasn’t in the man’s vocabulary. But there it was, flying right past his full lips all rude and obnoxious.

  “The answer’s no, Kit.” He stalked across the yard, gaze on the cabin as I shook his keys at him, trying to get him to stop.

  “Kane!” I yelled, stunned and a little pissed off.

  He raised his hand high in the air but kept marching toward the cabin. “Nope. Can’t do it.”

  “What the fuck?”

  With my hands at my sides, I strode across the yard, making my way to the cabin in half the steps I normally took just to keep up with him, and nearly crashed through the closed door.

  Kane had already forgotten me and my request, had busied himself by torturing the new intern with the dumb suspenders, bellowing orders and demands in a tone that told me Kane was lashing out, avoiding even looking in my direction.

  It took a few minutes of deep breathing and waving my assistants off as they fluttered around me to get my irritation under wraps. I still couldn’t keep the small curl from my mouth as I gave them one-word answers. Kane went back to work, hazarding small glances my way, but he wouldn’t look directly at me.