Page 71 of Now to Forever

“Lenny, honey,” Wanda starts. “When you showed up at Easter that one time with my sister—in front of her husband—you were the real star of the show. And you made the best collard greens and cornbread I’d ever had.” She pauses, considers, then adds, “And I won $500 on that scratch-off you gave me. Changed my life.”

“Len,” I say, smoothing my Bob Marley T-shirt. “You had a huge di—” Wren digs her elbow into me. “—vidend portfolio,” I recover with a too-sweet smile. “Which is why you could afford to bring the Rastafarian culture to the Blue Ridge Mountains. The way you blasted reggae out of the speakers of your Mercedes and spoke with the best accent—” We all look at Leonard, the whitest man alive, and know that it is highly unlikely he had this accent. “You taughtus never to judge a book by its cover. Because sometimes, the most unexpected of people are, in fact, Jamaican.”

Ford’s eyes meet mine and they’re filled with amusement. He clears his throat. “Leonard, in the time I’ve been back in Ledger, I never arrested you.” He looks at us, like he’s finished, and I give him a look that saysthe hell you are. “Right.” He clears his throat again. “And also, you were always volunteering at the church, serving soup to those in need on Sundays.” I nod in approval, then he adds, “And you told me Scotty Armstrong wanted to be my girlfriend.”

Everyone laughs except me. “Wren.”

“Uhh, well, this is awkward since my dad left out the fact you were his brother, but, Uncle Leo, you were definitely the better looking of the brothers and there’s never not a day I don’t wish I had your looks instead of his.” Ford pokes her in the ribs in mock offense. “But in all seriousness, we’ll miss you. The world was a better place with you here, and we’ll all notice you’re gone every single day. You had a friendly smile, and those around you noticed it. You made every room you were in feel like a party. We noticed every good thing about you.” She looks up at me, like she’s seeking approval, and I nod, taking her hand in mine with a squeeze.

Ford watches the whole exchange, admiration flickering across his face.

“Now,” I say, “let’s send him off to whatever comes next. Wanda.”

Wanda pushes the button to open the retort door, rolls him inside, then presses the buttons to close the door and start the cremation. When the loud whir of the machine starts, Dondi turnsup the music, beats of the islands bouncing around the sterile room, breaking up the somber reality of a life gone.

“You do this with everyone?” Ford asks, next to me as we watch Dondi show Wren some kind of dance move she laughs at.

I look at him. “I do.”

He hooks a pinky around mine, leaning in close. “You’re kind of amazing, Scotty Armstrong.”

I look at him; he means it. It consumes me with every breath and heartbeat and swallow and blink. I move my mouth to his ear. “I’m glad you think so because I’m trying to get in your pants.”

Mouth against my cheek, he chuckles. “I’ll tell you something real,” he says. “You don’t see how good you are.”

And then, with a man burning to ashes who didn’t have a soul in the world to claim him as theirs, the room feels like a celebration of life as Ford wraps his arms around me and dances to the beat of Bob Marley.

Twenty-Five

Pedroisashadymotherfucker. I know this because he said the electrical was done and I’m sitting in the dark. Actually, what he said was, “Should be good, miss” and sent me an astronomical bill. Which I paid.

When I textedWhy is my house darker than a shit-filled lightbulb? he did not respond.

I tried ignoring it, thinking I could survive the darkness until tomorrow, but I cannot. Wearing only a T-shirt and a blanket around my shoulders, I wander into the shed with a janky flashlight I have to shake to keep lit in one hand and my cell phone in the other, searching for my salvation. Candles, a generator, some kind of miracle plug that brings me back to the modern world.

Instead, I find Archie’s by-way-of-Wren’s bag of joints.

In the spirit of embracing a blackout, I light one with the lighter that’s conveniently in the tackle box.

On a stool, blanket wrapped around my shoulders, flashlight rolling across the wooden workbench, Molly whimpers next to me as I pinch it between my lips and take a sharp toke, letting it burn my throat before exhaling with a small cough. “Surprised you haven’t eaten this.”

She cocks her head, ears twitching as she stares at me. I snort a laugh.

I need a plan; I take another hit.

I hate asking for help, but I can’t live like this. On my phone I type:Do you know anything about electrical work? Also, wondering what my rights are if I kill someone that conned me. Can a private citizen hire you to make an arrest on their behalf? Would it be poetic justice to electrocute the electrician?and hit Send.

Molly barks, making me wince. There are no solutions in the shed, but the unexpected joint takes the edge off just enough I’m feeling less violent. I tighten the blanket around my shoulders before walking outside. There, in the middle of the driveway, is Ford’s police car, him already knocking on the front door.

“Officer,” I call, Molly sprinting toward him when he turns around. “I expected a text, not a house call.”

“I was on my way home when I got your messages.” He strolls over to me, chuckling at the sight of the joint in my hand. “Really?”

“Archie had a stash for times such as these.” I hold it up with a shrug and eye his uniform sans the outer shirt. His bulletproof vest clings to his T-shirt-clad chest, and I very much like the whole situation. “You going to arrest me,Officer Callahan?”

“I get you in cuffs again and I’m not taking you to jail,” he says, yummy edge to his voice as his eyes linger on my bare legs sticking out from the bottom of my blanket. “I remember what happens to you when you smoke.”

“Oh, really.” I raise my eyebrows. “And what’s that?”

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