Page 4 of Now to Forever

I debate telling her I would befineif everyone left me the hell alone, but she breaks our gaze by turning to a woman exiting the church and I revert mine to the familiar minivan.

“Aunt Scotty! Look at this!” Twin five-year-old voices shout from the back seat before I fully make it to June’s driver’s side window.

When both boys flip me off, I bark out a laugh and return the gesture.

“Scotty!” June snaps, glaring at me from the driver’s seat before she blows out an exasperated breath and turns to the boys in their booster seats. “Hank. Ty. Don’t do that. We talked about that finger.”

They start to whine, she rolls her eyes, looking up at me then glancing around the empty lot, lingering on the LL sign before Mel picks it up and carries it inside the church.

“What are you doing here?”

“What areyoudoing here?” I retort, lifting my chin.

“I was driving by and saw the Bronco—at a church—and thought the world must be ending or you must be dead, so I pulled over.”

I shift my weight between my feet and cross my arms over my chest.

“Praying.”

She squints at me, her curly red hair framing her not-convinced face.

“Lost cause. What else?”

I say nothing. The truth is, I don’t know how to answer. I don’t know why I’m here. Six months ago, I was on my usual Sunday drive, saw the sign as I went by, and decided to go in. Like maybe a basement full of people like my entire family might give me some insight, direction, or answers. I’ve gotten none, yet I keep showing up.

“You’re a pain in the ass.” One of her kids shouts about her use ofass.“How long?”

I shrug, annoyed. “Not as long as you harassed my clientele with your problems.”

She glares at me, no doubt reliving the time that lasted until just months ago when her marriage was crumbling, and she could only find solace by sharing everything she felt with those who couldn’t respond . . . because they were dead.

“Was that Ford?”

I scuff the toe of my sandal against the ground, stretching the silence between us.

“I’m worried about you, Scott.”

I sigh. “It’s nothing, Joo.” She opens her mouth to argue but I raise a hand, silencing her. “I’m serious, it’s nothing. I’m fine. I’m just . . . I don’t know. Restless or something. In a rut. Maybe this is my midlife crisis.”

“What else have you been doing? I hardly saw you all summer.”

“Pilates,” I lie.

She rolls her eyes. “We didn’t even hang out for your birthday.”

“Forty-one isn’t a big deal.”

She puts her hands together like she’s praying, pressing her fingertips to her forehead and blowing out a slow breath before looking at me again. I’ve seen her like this before—usually when she’s trying not to go apeshit on her kids. “You’re always working or in that sad apartment.”

My jaw drops. “That’s fucking rude, it’s not sad.” June winces, and the boys start shouting about swear words again. “We went boxing. That’s something.”

She scoffs. “That was four months ago, and we both turned into psychos.”

I chuckle; she’s not wrong. She unloaded on her husband, Camp, and I attacked Ford. Not that he didn’t deserve it.

“Talk to me, Scott. You live alone, above a crematorium in an apartment with one window and—”

“Two,” I correct, holding up two fingers. “The bathroom has that round one.”

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