Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [92]
“If you want to talk . . . ,” they say.
I don't. I really don't have anything to say. Because after the shock of my fainting spell, the most surprising thing to me has been how little I feel about William's death at all.
the sixteenth
Dexy is mourning enough for the both of us. She's been in full Jackie O. funeral regalia, widow's veil and all, ever since it happened.
“I don't know how you're managing,” Dexy said over coffee at Tom's, in the grave tone she has adopted of late.
“Dexy, we weren't that close,” I said, stirring in my sugar. “I know it's not in good form to speak ill of the dead and all, but the truth is, he really got on my nerves.”
“But you hooked up with him!”
“And I've regretted it ever since!”
“But you hooked up with him and now he's dead,” she said, stating the obvious.
“You make it sound like I killed him,” I said. “Like he died of a heart attack while we were having sex, like a billionaire geezer in a bad movie.”
“But still,” Dexy intoned. “No guy I've ever hooked up with is dead.”
I wanted to point out that there was no way she could possibly know this, as cataloging her sexual conquests would require the invention of complex bioinformatic databases by some of the world's top statisticians. Fortunately, some of them teach here at this very university, so maybe we could get them on it.
“We should have gone to his funeral,” she said.
“It was in Texas!”
“I feel bad about it,” she said, her eyes wet with tears.
“That's exactly why I want to be cremated,” I said. “I don't want a funeral, and I definitely don't want to be buried in a cemetery because I don't want anyone feeling guilty about not visiting my grave.”
Those last words triggered something in my brain that impelled me to look at my watch, which, in turn, provoked a succession of matter-of-fact observations: Today is August 16. It would have been Matthew's twenty-fourth birthday but it's not, because he—like William—is dead. Right now my parents are in Pineville mourning Matthew. And I am here.
I neglected to share this with Dexy, who had begun singing somberly, horribly.
“It seems to me you lived your life like a candle in the wind . . .”
As I listened to Dexy, it dawned on me that she didn't know I was in Pineville last month until I called her, and I'd already been there for more than a week. I could have just as easily been dead in my room from natural causes, but she was too busy to worry.
“Your candle burned out long before your legend ever did . . .”
Even though she's my closest friend at school right now, I've accepted that I'll never be able to rely on Dexy. Which makes me wonder: How long would it take for someone to find me? And who would that someone be? Who would miss me enough to come looking for me?
And what does it mean when the only people who come to mind—Hope and Marcus—are the two people I am least likely to see, for reasons that are entirely of my own doing?
the twentieth
William's death has really been a buzzkill on the adulterous banter. Bastian, like everyone else, is making way more out of my relationship with William than is deserved, so he's keeping a respectful distance. The more I insist I'm fine, the more he insists I'm hiding my grief.
“What does my face say?” I asked today.
He inspected my features.
“It says that you are trying too hard to look relaxed.”
“Aha!” I cried, pointing an accusatory finger. “I'm always trying too hard to look relaxed. That's my natural state. Which just proves that I'm fine.”
“You are . . .” He paused to choose his words carefully. “Complicated.”
I tried not to get too turned off by the fact that the only other person who has described me in that same way was my mother.
When I got back to the dorm, I found a note on my door from Dexy: CRISIS!!! This wasn't unusual. She was often leaving one-word cries for