“Where is the damn key?”
All I want to do is head inside where I can hibernate for two weeks. Forget the outside world exists, order lots and lots of takeout and just wallow at the fact I am single, jobless and completely lacking any personal life. Once my little “blackout” goes public, the damage will be irreversible and I will be labeled as the jealous girlfriend.
“Charlotte?”
Her distinctive voice sounds raspy and warm. Pivoting on my feet, I am more aware than ever before that I am standing in a puke-stained dress, radiating a smell of fermented fruit.
“Mrs. Silva!” I call, forcing my voice to stay steady, stopping myself from hugging her.
Up close, the grays mixed in her short black hair are more prominent. Her skin looks like it hasn’t seen sunlight in weeks. With how small she was to begin with, her bones are so frail I can see her collarbone protruding.
“Honey, you can stop calling me that. Call me Beth.”
“Okay, Beth, how are you holding up?”
Nothing prepares me for how weird it is to interact with her for the first time since the fire. Calling her “Beth” feels unnatural slipping off my tongue. The matching freckles and bone structure between Skye and her are eerily identical.
“Sweetheart.” She pauses before reaching over to my hand. “I was about to ask you the same thing.”
Beth is keen on using any term of endearment in any conversation we have. I could never have a conversation with her without some variation of honey, sweetheart, or love. All she needs is a cane and to smell like sugar cookies to reinforce the sweet old lady stereotype.
“What do you mean?” I question. Did she see the interview already? Was I already going viral?
“Your dress, darling.”
I take another glance at it and flash a nervous grin. Other than the dripping oatmeal on the fabric, the stench has not dissipated.
“I’m fine,” I say. I repeat the word until she stops staring at me.
“Well, fine. Fine. I wanted to stop by to thank you for the cookies you made me, sweetie. I know it was a while ago, but life has been…” She pauses, trying to find the words.
So, I finish for her. “Life,” I add.
“Exactly. Well, my whole family has been in town. Ben is about to leave in two days.”
“Ben?” I repeat back.
I haven’t heard her speak of this “Ben” in the three years I’ve lived at this complex. I repeat his name in my head a few times, hoping it will dawn on me.
“My brother. Skye’s dad.”
“Oh. Has he not been back since she died?”
“No, I think it took him a while to realize it was real. They saw each other a week before it happened. I had to beg him almost two months later to do this vigil.”
“Did you have a service?”
“We did, but now that he is finally in town, we are going to have a little memorial in her honor.”
“That’s nice.” I fumble back into my purse, hoping I’ll find the key on this attempt.
“Would you come? It’s tomorrow. I know you didn’t know her, but it would be nice to see more friendly faces.”
I return my gaze back to her as my answer is forcing its way to the surface.
“Of course. I’ll bring some baked goods.” I give a faint smile before Beth turns away. No matter how sad her eyes are, she never loses the warmth in her voice.
I lift my “Eww, people” doormat, seeing I did remember to leave a spare underneath it.
