Truth, Lies, and Second Dates Page 3

  “No, not you. You’ve always been singular.”

  True enough, in the literal sense. It was why she loved hanging out at Casa Monahan. And she was beginning to place Pete, who had been a year or two ahead of her in school. He’d volunteered at the same nursing home. Speaking of …

  “Did you hear Shady Oaks finally had to shut down?”

  He nodded. “I was astonished it took as long as it did.”

  “Right? I mean, those guys were shady when we were there. I guess the drug thing—the latest drug thing—was a bridge too far.”

  “Hey, Pete. Here, Ava.”

  “Thanks. Nice talking to you, Pete.” She accepted a cup of water from Dennis, profoundly wished it was vodka

  (No one understood the Atomic Blonde’s love of vodka like I understood the Atomic Blonde’s love of vodka.)

  and sucked it down. She had just decided that getting sloppily drunk at that point in time would be an error of judgment when she heard, “Look what the cat brought … haw!” and turned.

  There was Xenia, blinking her big doe fuck-me eyes

  (low-cut sparkly black cocktail dress? really?)

  while pushing a wheelchair that held, at first glance, Methuselah. Or one of his close relatives.

  “My God,” Ava said, staring. “You’re still alive? How is that possible?”

  For that she got another “Haw!” from the man in the chair and an expressive eye roll from Xenia. “Welcome home, you sassy brat.”

  “It’s not home and it’s nice to see you again, Pat.”

  “You too, girlie girl—and I hear it’s ‘Captain’ Capp these days.”

  “Wow,” Ava marveled. “You didn’t even use them and I could still see the air quotes.”

  Darren Monahan, the patriarch (only Ava got away with calling him Pat for short), though wheelchair bound for years, had the broad, deep chest of a man who used his upper body far more than his legs, as well as the Monahan dark hair and eyes. He was a retired salesman—cars, used cars, farm equipment, furniture, copy machines, insecticide—and in his prime could sell anything to anyone. And had, as half the state could attest.

  “Yes, it’s Captain Capp now. Also, keeping tabs on me? Not too creepy, Pat. I’m young enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter.”

  “Oh, hell no. Think I got nothing better t’do than look you up? That boy Dennis was blathering about you when we got here. And while it’s nice to see your beautiful blank face again—”

  “For God’s sake. Three lies in one sentence fragment.”

  “—this is one of them times I’m glad my sister isn’t here to see this.” He looked around at the mourners, the poster of Danielle, the flowers. “This woulda killed her. As opposed to the cancer that killed her.”

  Ava decided the focus should stay on Danielle and let that pass. “Xenia, did you lose a bet? Is that why you’re on chair detail?”

  Xenia laughed. “Yes. And yes!”

  “No one needs to be on chair detail,” Pat fussed. He was wearing a black suit, clearly new, with scuffed black dress shoes, clearly old, and couldn’t stop fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “I’m on chair detail.”

  “You know those two things can’t be true at the same time, right, Pat?” She made an effort not to stare at his shoes. They made her sad—scuffed, clearly ill cared for—in a way the wheelchair didn’t. Who needed to take care of shoes when you never really used them anymore? They were just … foot decorations.

  “That’s enough out of you,” he commanded. “Make yourself useful. Here comes That Boy Dennis. Go see what he wants.”

  “Hey, Grandpa.” He turned to Ava. “You know, I was nine before I found out That Boy wasn’t actually part of my name? Nine.”

  Ava tried to convey sympathy, exasperation, and gentle sorrow at the same time without saying anything and doubted she was pulling it off. But, just then, most of the group started moving toward the chapel doors.

  She let Dennis, Pat, and Xenia pass, then filed in behind them and took a seat toward the back of the chapel. The stone windowless room with the dark wood altar at the front matched her mood. She wasn’t sure she was up to sunlight splashed through stained glass windows and the accompanying clichés about God’s plan and how Danielle was in a better place.

  Someone who had never met Danielle talked. And talked. And Ava was meanly glad to note that sitting in the back was making it harder for the gawkers to gawk. You couldn’t subtly stare at someone when you had to twist halfway round to see them. She met every guarded look and side-eye with a wide, toothy smile and raised eyebrows. She decided giving them a double thumbs-up would be overkill.

  After a while, the stranger stopped talking and Danielle’s mother talked. Then Xenia, who liked the “out of death comes my boyfriend who is also a distant cousin so it’s not all bad” theory and expounded on it for five minutes.

  And then it was over. Ava tried (and failed) not to leap to her feet and bolt for the foyer. She’d have to do some glad-handing, perhaps accept a few more awkward hugs, maybe extra banter with the grumpy patriarch, and then she’d be free. Then it was back to the Hyatt to pay eighteen bucks to watch a Fast and Furious movie and suck down at least two room service sundaes.

  “We couldn’t believe it when we saw you come in.” This from Dennis and Danielle’s mother, Mrs. Monahan, a bird-like woman whose hands were so small they were like flesh-colored bundles of twigs. “After all this time.”

  “Yes, I flew with Dennis here.”

  “Oh, that’s right. You’re a flight attendant.”

  “Pilot.”

  “Oh, a copilot? Already?”

  “Pilot pilot. Yeah.”

  “And how are your folks?”

  “Dead.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ma, did you forget how bad Ava is at small talk?” This from Dennis, who had come up behind her. To Ava: “Seriously, you are the worst. I’m sorry about your mom and dad, though. You got my card?”

  Ava nodded. Car accident on the way to her college graduation. Toyota Camry vs. snow plow = send flowers. They’d outlived Danielle by two years almost to the day. Her folks had been only children, and children of only children. Ava was an only child; the Capp family had always been small. It was part of the reason she’d been drawn to the Monahans; there were, at rough count, a zillion of them. Which made the memorial’s turnout (only about a dozen people) puzzling.

  Well. Ten years. The best and worst thing about life is that it goes on. Any number of Monahans have been born since Danielle died. She might as well be a page in a history book to them. “Here’s a chapter on women getting the vote in 1920. And here’s a picture of your long-dead cousin. These will seem equally ancient to you.”

  “I’m surprised there aren’t more people here.”

  “That’s why we’re doing it all over again tomorrow,” Mrs. Monahan replied. “The family’s scattered. This way, more of us can say our goodbyes.”

  If they haven’t managed to say goodbye in ten years, why do you think a memorial marathon would help? Ava realized she’d been looking at this all wrong. It could have been worse. She could have had to go both nights.

  “Terrible business,” Mrs. Monahan was saying, small hands fluttering like she didn’t know where to put them. “All of it. And then you went away.”

  Flew away. Immediately. At the speed of sound, never to return except for the occasional layover and/or memorial service. And to stock up on moisturizer.

  Dennis gently caught and held his mother’s hands; she looked distinctly relieved. She was a smaller, shrunken, older version of her children, the trademark dark Monahan hair streaked with gray. “Ava, what are you doing after?”

  “After? You mean right now?”

  “Cripes, you’re the worst. Stop being so literal. Listen, Xenia’s already left to get Grandpa settled at the hotel, and my ma’s gotta get back, too, but I was hoping you and I could grab a drink or something.”

&nbs
p; “Oh.” Wait, without Xenia? And why was her heart suddenly pounding harder? “You—really?”

  That glorious, idiotic giggle. “Yeah, really. Don’t look so shocked. C’mon, I haven’t seen you in years. I’d love to catch up with you. Xenia won’t mind.”

  “Xenia doesn’t mind a lot of things.” This muttered by Dennis’s mother, because, like many natives to this land, she was an Olympic-level passive aggressor. “But she’s such a lovely girl.”

  “Ma, don’t start. She’s great. We’re doing great.”

  Huh. Emphasized great and used it twice.

  “Really great,” he finished.

  They are not doing great.

  Well, who knew? Perhaps this was meant to be (a phrase she loathed until this moment). Perhaps she and Dennis would rekindle something. Out of mourning comes love. Out of death comes life. Out of Xenia comes Ava.

  Wait, that’s not right …

  (Perhaps this was her very own romance novel.)

  “Sure I will,” she said. “I mean, I’m free. That sounds—that’ll be great. Really great. Fine. I meant fine. It’ll be great to catch up.”

  “Great!” It’s official: we all need to find a synonym for great. But Dennis was oblivious to her need for a thesaurus. He let go of his mom’s hands, held up one finger. “One sec. I’ve gotta grab something and then we can go. Ma, you’re good? Car’s outside?”

  “I’m fine, Dennis. I should be getting back, too.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow before church, okay?” To Ava: “Don’t fly away this time, okay?”

  “Great! I mean, I won’t. Fly. I’m—my feet are here. On the ground. Definitely not flying, heh.” Oh my God. Staaaaawwwpp.

  Dennis darted off and Mrs. Monahan bid a listless farewell to the stragglers. Far too soon it was down to her and the missus.

  “I was surprised to see Pat made it. In a good way,” Ava added, since, with Pat, the grouchy buzzard, it could have gone either way. She’d always gotten along with him, though not being related helped. The other Monahans had always walked wide around him.

  Mrs. Monahan shrugged. “He’d never miss a family gathering.”

  “Yep, only death could have thwarted him, and maybe not even that.” In fact, Ava wouldn’t have wanted to bet on the outcome of a mano a mano with the Grim Reaper and Pat Monahan. Death would be down for the count by the fourth round. “But why’s Xenia taking him to a hotel?”

  “He sold the farm some time ago.”

  “You’re kidding.” The Monahan farm was family legend. Started by Pat’s father—or was it grandfather?—it had seen countless births, deaths, and baby showers. Danielle had hated the place, so Ava had only been there a couple of times. “It’s hard to imagine him letting it go.”

  “He is nearly ninety, Ava. And no one in my generation wanted to take it over. We don’t even like corn.”

  Wait, you had to like the crop you were growing? Is that a secret farmer rule? The things you learned on the rare trip home you had desperately wanted to avoid!

  “And Danielle and Dennis never liked it.”

  “No, they were always trying to get out of visiting when they were teenagers,” Ava recalled.

  “Yes. Exactly. Even if she was—was still alive, she would have had no interest.”

  “Yeah, I can’t really picture her or Dennis in overalls.”

  Mrs. Monahan ignored her silly-ass attempt at humor (understandable) and continued. “Grandpa M. rents the house and sold the rest of the land a couple of years ago. I think it was a relief. He lives up in Saint Cloud now. It’s just easier to spend the night, then start home fresh in the morning.”

  “Yes, that’s a good system.” Ugh. This conversation. I definitely should have downed some vodka.

  “So do you get very homesick, all your time on the road?” Mrs. Monahan made a vague gesture that encompassed the funeral home. “Do you miss Minnesota?”

  “Of course I don’t miss fucking Minnesota. Are you out of your goddamned mind? The weather sucks and for every pleasant experience I had here, I had nine more that ensured PTSD, substance abuse, lefse, or a stomach virus. The only reason, the only reason I’m in town is because I gave another pilot my hours, and the only reason I’m in this room with you is because I wasn’t fast enough and then slow enough to give Dennis the slip, and then wasn’t smart enough to come up with a credible excuse for missing this horror show. Do I miss Minnesota? Are you clinically insane? Jesus.”

  She stopped herself, appalled, but when Mrs. M. just kept blinking at her and waiting, she realized none of that had been out loud. Thank God.

  “Oh, sometimes,” she lied. “The, um, fall. Is nice.”

  “All the colors,” was the vague reply.

  “The lakes are nice.”

  “All the lakes.”

  “Yes, and—shit.”

  “Beg pardon?”

  She was looking around. “I’ve misplaced my purse. I just had it—I think I just had it—” She tried to remember when it was in her hands last. Just after the memorial was finished, she’d set it aside to gulp down more water. “Shit!”

  “I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” Mama Monahan said, giving off clear “not that I care in the slightest” vibes. Not that Ava could blame her. If the shoe/purse were on the other foot, Ava wouldn’t care, either. But then—

  “Hey. Ava.” Dennis emerged from wherever he’d been, waving a black clutch at her. “This what you’re looking for?”

  “Yeah, thank goodness.” After a quick scan, she was reassured nothing was missing. “You ready?”

  “Yep.”

  And just like that, they fled the Crisp and Gross Funeral Home for the dark sanctuary of the bar. A bar. Any bar.

  Five

  “… and then Grandpa Pat literally threw the guy off the porch. Grabbed him and hoisted him and heaved and the guy went flying and kicked up a bunch of dust when he landed.”

  “Probably should have taken Pat seriously when he said ‘no comment.’”

  “Right? Like trying to set the guy’s rental car on fire wasn’t enough of a hint? Anyway, that was the height of the media mess.”

  “Nightmare.”

  “Yeah. But it didn’t get any worse, and after that there were fewer reporters, and then one day, we got up and saw they’d all left.”

  “Like the swallows on their way to Capistrano.”

  Dennis snorted. “Sure. Exactly like that.”

  They were imbibing in the Tamarack Tap Room, because Ava could get behind a place with the motto “Beer, Burgers, Bourbon.” Dennis was sucking down a liquid that was so dense and black, it looked like something he had to drink because he lost a bet; Ava was content with rye and ginger.

  “Hard to believe it’s been ten years.”

  “Agreed,” Ava replied. “Depending on the day I’m having, it either seems like too long a time or not enough time. And I can’t imagine—I mean, this had to have been hard for you.”

  “It wasn’t a boatload of chuckles for you, either.”

  “Yeah, but you lost a twin.” She shook her head. “Can’t imagine. You know I’m an only.”

  “I know that’s why you hung out at our place all the time,” he teased. “You were literally the only person in town who envied Ava for having too many weirdo relatives.”

  “I think ‘weirdo’ was unnecessary.”

  “Hell, for a time people thought you and Danielle were twins. Remember when you both got the same haircut and matching dark dye jobs?”

  “Argh, don’t remind me. It took so long to grow out.” As soon as the words were out, she could have bitten her tongue. Because Danielle’s never had a chance to grow out. And the reminder of how desperately Ava was looking for an identity back then made her cringe. Hell, they’d even dressed alike more than once.

  “Aw, c’mon.” Dennis nudged her, doubtless picking up on her mood. “It was cute. We all thought so. Even the nursing home you guys volunteered at—remember?”

  “Vag
uely,” she lied. She remembered everything: Ava volunteering at Shady Oaks—which provided neither shade nor oaks—and quickly realizing it wasn’t going to be what she thought. She’d been picturing grandparental figures, loving proxies. Instead, the residents were real people, and weren’t there to fulfill Ava’s fantasies of living in a big extended family. The third time she’d had to wipe shit off Mr. Wilkin’s ass, she’d decided enough was enough and told her folks she was quitting.

  Which led to the “you took on this responsibility and will see it through” lecture, hilarious given how often her parents shirked their own responsibilities. Oblivious to the irony, her mom and dad had then left for their semiannual trip to Vegas.

  After crying (and ranting) on Danielle’s shoulder, her friend suggested they take turns being Volunteer Aide Ava. It was such a silly, sitcomesque idea, so of course Ava was all over it. So while Volunteer Aide Ava was on the schedule three afternoons a week, the actual Ava only went once or twice, while Danielle picked up her other shift. The work was still gross and grueling, but knowing they were “gaming the system” made it interesting.

  Ava shrugged off the memories, started to ask something, then cut herself off.

  “What?”

  “No, it’s—okay, well, I’m sure you got asked this all the time, but—was there anything that last day? Anything at all?”

  “No, Ava. Trust me. I’ve been asking myself that for a decade. If anything, you spent more time with her that day than I did.”

  It was true—she and Danielle had spent most of the day together, divvying up the Volunteer Ava shifts for the next two weeks and gorging on pizza. Ava had finally left to pick up her parents at the airport. And sometime in the four hours that followed, Danielle was butchered like a veal calf in her own bedroom.

  Dennis had been out of town for twenty-four hours—an overnight kegger followed by a day trip to the U of M. By the time he got back, it was all over, and not just for Danielle.

  “Senseless crime, fuck,” Dennis said, startling her with the abrupt comment. “Hate that phrase the most, I think.” He was staring into the dregs of his black drink. “The reporters loved that one and it’s so stupid. Who’d stand over a stranger’s mutilated corpse and say, ‘This crime makes perfect sense.’ Obviously it’s senseless. Christ.” Dennis, finished with his third black drink, looked around for their waitress.