Page 62 of Desperate Haste

“Promise me,” he demands, cutting her off.

I hear her suck in a breath. “I promise.”

“Ophelia…pretty name.” His voice sounds distant, faded, like he’s falling asleep as he speaks.

“I like it a lot.” She stumbles through more tears. As she does, it’s as if every machine in his room goes off on a timer.

But the one that rings the loudest is the unforgettable, undeniable, flatline tone that you never want to hear in real life.

31

OPHELIA

Some people might say that the most painful thing to endure is the feeling of your own heart breaking. But in reality, what’s more painful is having to endure watching someone you care about deeply as their own heart breaks.

And that’s what I’m enduring now with Malcolm.

It’s the weekend before Valentine’s Day and the day of Marshall’s funeral. The weight of it can be felt in the entire house. Kolbi offered to hold the reception after the funeral services at his place since it’s large enough to hold the number of people who are attending. I know the significance Marshall had on Malcolm but I had no idea how much of a larger impact he had. Butcher and Block has been closed since his passing and the entire staff came to his services. People from the local sober community were in attendance as well as several people from Reese’s training center. There had to be nearly a hundred people sitting in the church pews as final goodbyes were given and multiple eulogies were read.

Reese and several other people who I’ve never met stood to speak during the service with Malcolm being the last to give a eulogy. There’s been a noticeable shift in him since Marshall’s passing. It’s as if he’s been floating through each day and the spark in him that once made him who he is has gone out. Trying to keep my promise, I insisted that he stay at my place or I stay with him just to make sure he’s okay. When he stands to speak about his lost mentor, I hold my breath and watch as he pulls his shoulders back, pushes out a breath, and seems to steel himself from the turmoil that’s raging inside of him. He’d put on an all black suit, pulled his hair back, and is wearing his glasses. If you can’t see the tattoos peeking out from the collar of his shirt or dancing across the backs of his hands and fingers, you’d think he is a standard nine to five businessman like Kolbi is.

He speaks about the first time he and Marshall met and how Marshall was like a guide to anyone who was lost. How he believed in anyone and everyone who was willing to make a change to be better, to do better. Not a single tear falls from his eyes as he remembers his friend. Instead, I cry enough for the both of us. When he takes his seat next to me and his friends in the pew, I take his hand in mine and kiss him on the cheek as he uses his free hand to wipe a tear away as it trickles down my face.

Now we’re all back at Kolbi’s house, several hours having passed since the funeral with only a few lingering mourners still retelling their favorite memories. Bailey and Magnolia float around the room, making sure everyone has what they need, as Ms. Ruthie shuffles around as well. The pestering between her and Magnolia have given everyone a break in their sadness when Magnolia tries to tell her she doesn’t need to help and Ms. Ruthie tells her to hush up and mind her manners like a loving old grandmother would. Malcolm and I are sitting on the couch, his hand draped around my shoulders as my feet are tucked up under me, my heels discarded by the front door. I’m pretty sure I saw Ms. Ruthie put them away in a closet once I’d kicked them off.

“He was so mad, that crazy old man came barging in and snatched me by the collar of my shirt and hauled my ass home. I’ve never been so afraid of an old white guy in my entire life,” one of the cooks from the bar says, causing a communal laugh to break out amongst those in the room. Everyone except for Malcolm who sits with a stoned expression, his eyes fixed on the oriental rug below our feet.

“That’s nothing, let me tell you about the time he—” another staff member starts before he is interrupted.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but is Malcolm Kang here?” Every set of eyes in the room looks towards the voice to find a short and stout older man wearing a navy suit and holding an expensive looking leather briefcase. He’s holding a straw hat fedora across his chest and looking around the room. “The nice older woman let me in, I hope that’s okay.”

“That’s me, although I prefer to go by the last name Kacee. Kang is my Korean name, everyone knows me as Malcolm Kacee,” he explains, standing from the couch. He’d discarded his suit jacket when we got back to the house and his dress shirt is rumpled and half untucked from his dress pants.

“Mr. Kang, I’m here to read the last will and testament of Mr. Marshall Westing. Is there somewhere we can speak to go over it together?”

Kolbi, who’s sitting in an armchair across the room, stands and looks at his friend. “You can use my study, it’s just down the hallway and on the left.”

“Thanks, man.” Before leaving with the newest member of our party of mourning, he turns and extends his hand to me and gives me an expectant look. “Let’s go, princess.”

Taking his hand, he helps me from the couch and pulls me into his side, looping a strong arm around my waist. As we leave the room I hear Magnolia and Bailey whispering in the corner.

“Did he just call her?—”

“Yeah he did.”

“That’s the cutest thing ever.”

When the three of us make it down the hallway and into the study, Malcolm motions for the man to take the office chair while he and I sit in the other two chairs on the opposite side of the antique desk. It feels as if we are sitting in some professional office and not Kolbi’s personal study. As the man lowers himself into the chair, he carefully places the briefcase on the desk and opens it with the clearing of his throat.

“Mr. Kang?—”

“Please, just Malcolm.”

“Okay, Malcolm.” The man straightens his suit jacket and pulls a large stack of papers out before closing his briefcase again and setting it on the floor. “My name is Quincy Palmer and I acted as Mr. Westing’s attorney. Like I said, I’m here to go over his last will and testament with you. I helped him organize his estate and assets before his passing.”

“Why me?” Malcolm sounds stunned.

“Mr. Kang?—”

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