Heaven’s car might as well be an iridescent green bubble blown from a toddler’s bubble wand. It shouted for attention and couldn’t fit all the luggage I intended to bring, let alone a coffin.
“You can’t have her getting loose at gas stations,” Vlad cautioned. It was hard to imagine Heaven chasing down some unsuspecting dad pumping gas while listening to Kai Ryssdal onMarketplace, but he was right. Heaven was going to be thirsty.
First task: Get a new car in the next couple of hours. But how do you even buy a car? I only bought things for less than $50 that could change my life, like face wash. One of those car vending machines was appealing, but they probably didn’t have hearses or panel vans.
My brain just couldn’t do this. I might as well try to relate to middle schoolers. There weren’t any neural pathways developed in the car ormoney-management regions of my brain. If you asked me to bake a loaf of bread or heft a bale of hay, I was your girl. But a car loan? Forget it.
New plan: Pack for Heaven and think about car shopping after.
Heaven’s place was filled with even more crap than my apartment, but was neat as a pin. Boxes and trays of crystals, more tea than one person could possibly ever drink, and used furniture draped with pink and gold scarves. On the wall behind the couch, she’d painted a mural of a sunrise. She was not getting her deposit back.
A chunky knit turtleneck and miniskirt in fall colors with tights and glasses was hanging over her closet door. Her Velma costume had cozy, Vermont vibes, so I threw it in a duffel along with a random selection of clothes, several nostalgia T-shirts, and her phone charger.
The pantry was stacked with enough Kirkland brand organic coconut water to get through the apocalypse. Some guy at Plasma4Life had once told me you could use it in a pinch for a blood transfusion. It was low in sodium, high in potassium, and osmotically neutral, whatever that meant. We’d find out soon. It was coming with.
For a moment, I imagined myself walking into a coffee shop in Vermont and ordering a grande dragonfruit drink without the dragonfruit or the syrup. The barista would pour coconut water into a plastic cup and write my name on it. Tiffany Amanda Blair, a girl with a signature drink at Starbucks, moving to a small town to rehabilitate an inn. I could be just like everyone else.
Next on my list: Deal with Gemma. Back in my apartment, I unzipped the slipcover and held Heaven’s phone up to her sleeping face.
Nothing happened.
Glasses! I found a cute pair of oversized tortoiseshell cat-eyes under the coffee table. When I slipped them on her face, bingo. The phone unlocked. I headed back to her place again for cute earrings because I wasn’t a monster. As I rifled through her eight million bangles and oversized earrings, I grabbed a few handfuls of the rocks she was so fond of, and sent a message to Gemma.
Heaven:don’t come over. i need space.
All I needed was for her to stay out of my way for one night, for her own good.
Heaven:could u watch Professor Parakeet? leaving town for a bit
Gemma:really? ur breaking up with me and asking me to watch your stupid bird?
Heaven:yep. thanks!
Let’s be honest, Heaven was better off.
A Google search turned up ten used hearses for sale in Los Angeles. I called the first number.
“I’m interested in the Cadillac hearse with 149,000 miles. I have a very cute green Volkswagen Beetle I could trade in.” Sorry, Heaven.
“It’s available.”
“You don’t know how happy I am to hear that!” The words tumbled out in relief. “Could you deliver it to my apartment tonight?”
“What the fuck, lady. You murder someone?”
A cold chill ran up my spine.
“Just use a trunk like a normal person.” He hung up.
A trunk! I would not be putting Heaven in a trunk.
I called Vlad.
He didn’t even wait for me to finish the story. “Start packing. I’ll send a car.”
“No, that’s too much. I was just looking for some car-buying tips.”
“Look, I’d rather send a car than bail you out of jail tomorrow or, even worse, try to break you out before sunrise,” Vlad said briskly. “Take the car.”
