Page 90 of The Art of Dying

“I opened it when I parked,” he said, defensive.

“I’m just glad it was you and not some shiesty motherfucker. Didn’t wanna have to waste a bullet,” I said, twisting the bulb until it was dark again.

With just the streetlight illuminating his round face, I could still see that Sully was more than just confused.

“I figured you’d come back. You know, for the funeral.”

I scratched the back of my neck. “The funeral?”

“Alecia put the whole thing together. It was beautiful. I’ve never seen so many flowers. Not even at her wedding. You didn’t even thank her.”

“No shit. Alecia got married? To who? Lucas?”

“Yeah,” Sully said, breathing out a laugh, but his smile faded quickly. “But they split. He had a kid with that Melissa Morrison chick.”

I made a face.

“He’s miserable. Melissa runs around on him all the time. Spends all his money. The second he gets home from work she leaves the kid with him and heads to the bar. Alecia is with Drew Karston now. She’s smiling every time I see her, so… looks like she had the last laugh.”

“Oh, yeah? She’s in love with the ol’ Badger, huh?”

Sully nearly spit out his beer. “I’d forgotten that nickname. God, football sucked. Why did we call him that again?”

I chuckled. “Because he’d never stop bugging us to hang out.”

“Oh yeah! Damn, that was a long time ago.”

“Isn’t he PD with Vaz now?”

“Yeah, but he also does something on the side. Drives an Audi, buys Alecia whatever she wants. Surprised all of us.”

“Good,” I said, nodding. “That’s good to hear.”

Sully’s brows pulled together. “Kitsch… I’m glad to see you, man, but you fell off the face of the earth.”

“I know.”

“I mean, I get it. It’s hard to come back here without them, but… you couldn’t come back for the funeral? We were all here for you, bro. Even your team. Trex, the chick that has that look like she wants to kill someone… you shoulda been here.”

I shook my head. “Funerals are for the dead, Sully.”

He stared at me for a long time, waiting for me to explain or maybe to have a nervous breakdown, so I just slapped his shoulder and sat on the sofa in the dark.

Sully watched me take a sip of my beer and then pointed at me. “You… you got any more?”

“Fridge, dickhead, get your own.” I could feel my accent returning with every word—not that it was ever gone, but it was already matching Sully’s bowels-of-Boston accent. I thought it would feel like home, but not after spending an hour with Mack. Nothing would ever feel like her again.

Sully walked across the parlor to the kitchen, lighting the room for a few seconds, long enough for him to find the beer opener, pop his lid, and make his way halfway back to the sofa. A few muffled expletives flew from his mouth when he tripped over the lamp’s cord, but then he fell onto the cushion next to me.

“I should’ve thanked Alecia,” I said.

He took a sip of his beer, and we sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute too long.

“You here to stay?” he asked finally.

“Nah.”

“Why are you back?”

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