Page 9 of A Dead Girl's Guide to Living
I had been ready to die. I had beenpreparedfor it.
I knew how to do it.
Livingwas a whole other story.
“All right, kid?”
My grandfather’s voice broke through the silence of the kitchen, and I jumped, unprepared for the rough edge in his tone—the way it rattled slightly these days when he spoke.
He stood in the doorway, wearing the same tweed suit I swear he wore every single day, his white hair perfectly combed, his beard trimmed to perfection. Thick glasses masked his green eyes, but their sharpness remained, unwavering.
“You scared me,” I breathed, pushing off the counter to face him. “For a man who creaks when he walks, you sure were silent.”
He snorted and shook his head as he stepped closer. “Come with me, kiddo, and I’ll let that smart-ass comment slide.”
I frowned as I took his offered hand, a strange sense of peace settling over me, as if, for a moment, he was my anchor instead of the kitchen counter.
“Go where?”
He chuckled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “You’ll see.”
He led me to the garage, both of us slipping out unnoticed. I reveled in the fading party noise, the way the concrete walls swallowed the sound. But confusion crept in as I glanced around.
Why the hell were we in here?
“What are we—”
My words cut off as he flicked on the light.
The garage illuminated instantly, and my mouth dropped open at the sight before me.
Sitting in the middle of the room, gleaming under the fluorescents, was his pristine cherry-red 1967 convertible Mustang, a giant red ribbon tied to the windshield like a beacon.
I stared, then looked to my grandfather, who had leaned casually against the driver’s door, watching me.
No way.
“Yeah, kiddo,” he breathed on a laugh, as if he could hear my thoughts. “She’s all yours now.”
“You—I—what?” My words were completely unintelligible as I took a weak step forward, stopping halfway. “Granddad… this—I can’t. You—you love this car. It’s literally your favorite thing in the world. You’ve told us that enough.”
“I do love it,” he agreed, tapping the door. “That’s why she needs to go to someone who’s going to use her, you know? I can’t drive this thing around anymore.”
I blinked at him, my brain struggling to catch up. “You think I will?”
He snorted and pushed off the car, stepping toward me. Both hands landed on my shoulders, giving me a gentle shake.
“Ellis, if anyone needs a set of wheels to get the fuck out of Dodge, it’s you.”
My breath caught at his words, but he continued, his voice low and earnest.
“You’ve been strapped down to dread and death like a goddamn slave since before you could form a proper thought, and enough is enough. You just have to do something. Anything. You’ll never beat the rush of getting behind the wheel of this car and driving to nowhere. Trust me.”
My eyes burned as I glanced back at the car. The same car he used to take me to get ice cream in. I had loved it as a child and even more as a teenager, the wind in my hair as we drove for miles with no destination. He had always found ways to get me out of the house, and the convertible had always been his go-to.
“Do something, kid,” he muttered gruffly, his voice thick with emotion as mine met his. “Don’t fade away now. You fought too damn hard, and I see it. I see what people either choose not to see or are too blind with their own joy to notice. But I notice." His voice softened. "Get your ass in the car and drive to nowhere. Film your videos. Do whatever you have to do. But get a taste of life. Find a reason to want to be here. You got it?”
Something tight coiled in my chest, and I found myself nodding weakly, as if admitting some shameful secret. But there was no judgment from him, only understanding and acceptance.
