The coroner never said she actually ended her own life. No, the death certificate read Accidental Overdose.
But Jasper knew the truth, even though Lacy’s parents didn’t want to accept it. They clung to the fact that she didn’t leave a note, that her passing was sudden and unexpected.
But Jasper had checked that pill bottle. It had been refilled the morning before Lacy’s death. She’d taken them all, on top of a belly swimming with vodka.
Jasper would always wonder when she had done it. Had it been when he lay in bed next to her? He shuddered.
He opened the door where “Heather Burroughs” lay.
Seeing the open casket, an elegant pewter lined with ivory satin, shocked him so much that he took a wavering step back and caught his breath. For a moment, he simply thought of turning and running straight back outside. Once there, he’d dash for the L stop at Argyle, board a northbound train, and head for home, where he could nurse his grief in his own bed with reruns ofThe Golden Girlsplaying.
The thought was comforting and tempting, save for the fact that he seriously wondered if he could continue to live in the small vintage one-bedroom he’d shared with her. They’d been thrilled when they found it, even if it had meant converting the dining room into a bedroom for Jasper. He thought he could use the actual bedroom now. But no, he couldn’t. It was where she’d drawn her last breath. The possibility that she drew that breath with him lying beside her was almost too horrible to contemplate.
What was worse, though, was thinking she might have died in bed alone.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment, and counted in his head until five as he slowly exhaled.
It helped. A little.
You have to look at her. It’s the decent thing to do. All eyes are on you at the moment, anyway. They’re not expecting her roommate and best friend to run from the room like a coward. Move! Step up to the casket and say goodbye.
Even though he didn’t want to, desperately, he forced his feet to move toward her.
He paused in front of the casket, not looking down, and then he forced himself.
A bark of laughter escaped him, and he hushed it quickly with his palm. Behind him, conversation stopped for a moment, then started up again.
It’s not her. The thought was a relief, a blessing.
Of course it was. His head told him so. But the young woman lying before him was not the Lacy he’d known—and loved.
Maybe this was Heather, at last the girl her parents had wanted.
The black hair was gone. In its place was a light brown with golden highlights. It curled around her cherubic face. Lacy had favored purple lipstick, heavy mascara and eyeliner, a deep “smoky” eye. Heather now wore pale blush on her cheeks and coral lip gloss. Her lids were painted with a subtle shade of brownish-green that complemented what Jasper assumed was her true, natural hair color.
She wore a white dress, almost bridal, trimmed in lace. A pale pink blanket was pulled up to just beneath her bosom.
She looks beautiful. But it’s not her. Jasper couldn’t tell if it was the sight of Lacy, so changed in death, or the overpowering smell of all the flowers around her making his stomach churn.
In her hands, she held a leather-bound edition of the Bible. A silver cross pendant was woven between her fingers.
Jasper couldn’t help himself. He began to laugh. It started as a little chuckle at first, then bloomed into a guffaw, then a hysterical, unstoppable force. Tears streamed down his face, his eyes wide. He stuffed a fist to his mouth, yet still was helpless to stop what wouldn’t be denied.
She was an atheist!
After a moment, he was able to slow the laughter. He wiped his eyes and turned to look at the people in the room behind him. There were slack jaws and frowns. Those that weren’t confused by his display were appalled. Again, no one was speaking.
Jasper rushed from the room.
Down the hall, he found a bathroom and ducked inside. He bent over the sink and splashed his face with icy water again and again. After he dried himself with coarse paper towels from an automatic dispenser in the wall, he regarded himself in the mirror.
His color was high. If he didn’t know better, it looked as though he was enjoying himself.
He shook his head.You need to go home. No matter how it looks, you cannot do this. You will write a very nice, apologetic letter to her parents. You will send flowers, irises, Lacy’s favorite, today.
But you just can’t stay here.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, someone was waiting for him. An older man.
