Page 9 of A Lifetime in 30 Days
He broke parts of her she’d never revealed to anyone else, and now she had to be the one to make sure he had a respectable homegoingservice, when what she really should’ve coordinated was the pine box he would be put in and tossed into an unmarked grave.
“We have Thursday morning available,” the woman on the other end of the phone—Ramona—said.
Vanna had lost track of how long she’d been on hold with the funeral home trying to take care of what she could over the phone. “To pick him up?” she asked. “Is that as soon as you can get him?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Carlson, I mean for the funeral,” Ramona said. “I apologize, I should’ve started at the beginning. So we can pick Mr. Carlson up tomorrow morning at eight. I’ll call the ME’s office as soon as I hang up with you. Then, because you mentioned you wanted to take care of everything here, I went ahead and searched for our next available time, and it’s Thursday morning at ten. If you’d like to do a viewing—”
“No,” Vanna replied. “No viewing. We’ll just do the funeral and burial.”
“That’s fine. You can come in on Wednesday afternoon and give your approval of him before the service. But first, we’ll need you to come in tomorrow or Monday morning so we can handle all the paperwork.”
“Monday,” she said. Tomorrow was her spa day, and she wasn’t going to miss her pampering to go and pick out a casket for Caleb.
When the dates and times were confirmed and she’d put them in the calendar on her phone, Vanna disconnected the call and yanked open the side-bottom drawer of her desk. She pulled her purse out and decided that 3:47 p.m. was going to be her check-out time today. Since she’d been on her desk phone for the call to the funeral home, she took her cell off the charger she kept at her desk and was about to put it in her purse when she saw that she had a text. It must’ve come through while she was talking all things cremation and burial options with Ramona.
Ronni:Can’t make it tonight. Jonah’s got diarrhea.
Great. That was just great. Not that three-year-old Jonah, with his adorably chubby cheeks, being sick was a good thing.
No, it was just great that now she would be hittin’ the club by herself tonight because she needed this night out, this release, as desperately as she needed her next breath.
Chapter 4
Glitz had a nice vibe.
That is, once she’d gotten through the annoyingly long line and the ultrabright lighting in the main dancing area. After indicating to a host—who had close-shaved hair, creamy-hued skin, and a face that was beat to the heavens—that she was there for dinner and drinks, she was led through that loud and crowded space up a winding staircase into what felt like a totally different world.
Here, gorgeous portraits of Black women sporting lush Afros, stunning weaves, and glorious braids were painted larger than life along the walls. Vanna could appreciate the nod to the importance of Black women and their beloved hairstyles. Personally, she kept her natural 4A hair texture protected by wearing weaves and wigs. Hence tonight’s shoulder-length, loose-wave look.
The ceiling and cement floors on this upper level were black. Sections of rich mahogany leather couches created half a dozen cozy seating areas along the walls, while glossed wood-top tables with low-back mahogany chairs occupied the center space.
She settled at a table for two at the back of the room so she could people-watch while she ate. Her meal selections were a small but scrumptious charcuterie board, loaded fresh-cut fries, and a cheesesteak egg roll that had received rave reviews online. They were all immensely enjoyable. She snapped pictures of everything and sent them to the group-text thread she shared with Ronni and Jamaica.
Ronni:That looks delish. You’re mean.
Jamaica:Davon has me in here cooking spaghetti
Vanna’s reply was a line of laughing emojis. Then she quickly determined they needed all the details from tonight since they both had decided to bail on her. Immediately after the server had taken her dessert order and removed the dinner plates, she stood from her seat and positioned herself in front of what she called the Angela Davis–vibe wall. It was right next to her table, so she didn’t need to get up and walk around the room to find the perfect backdrop. She adjusted her phone and snapped seven or eight full-body and close-up selfies. After returning to her seat, she reviewed each photo, deciding which ones were delete-worthy and which ones were shout-to-the-mountaintops glamorous. She put two—a full-body and a close-up—into the next text and typed:
Vanna:Outfit #1
The elegant black three-piece ensemble—shorts, cropped top, and jacket—was equal parts cute and eye-catching. She was certain from the looks she’d received from the skinny girls as she’d stood outside in the line that they didn’t approve of her size 20 body filling out the midthigh high shorts, or the way her generous breasts lifted and all but spilled over the blessedly fitted crop top, but Vanna didn’t give a damn. She loved every inch of her curves and knew she looked good. It was a signature Freakin’ Forty and Still Fine outfit, and she had six more she planned to rock this month. They weren’t all sequins like this one, but they were likewise as show-stopping.
Ronni:Dayyuuuumm! You snatchin’ all the wigs tonight, huh?
Jamaica:You wasn’t lyin’ about takin’ somebody’s son home tonight. I see you, Van!
Vanna was grinning down at the phone when the server returned with her dessert, a lovely slice of black forest cake that she prayed was as tasty as it was pretty.
“And the drink is from the gentleman in the gray over there,” the server said. She wore large hoop earrings and had her blonde braids pulled into a high bun on top of her head. “Don’t worry, I picked it up straight from the bartender and brought it to you, so it’s safe.”
“Uh, okay,” Vanna replied. “Tell him I said thank you.”
“Will do,” the server replied with a wink.
Aside from the quick glance in his direction when the server had set the drink down, Vanna hadn’t given the guy a good look. Nor did she plan to. Buying her a drink was cool, but it was also a little young, to her way of thinking. She was of the age and stage of a man knowing what he wanted and stepping up to get it. Not sitting across the room, sending a server with a free drink to break the ice for him. That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to happily sip this drink, though.
It was another mojito, so he must’ve told the server to bring her the same drink she previously had. That was smart instead of risking a drink she might not like at all. She was two sips in and had just put the first bite of her cake into her mouth when she heard his raspy voice.
