He swung the door open and motioned for me to step inside.
“Oh my god,” I said with a gasp, and immediately stumbled backward. “I—uh, that thing is empty, right?”
Leonard laughed so hard he wheezed.
A baby-blue coffin sat displayed on a stand like you’d see at a wake and on the side was a bedazzled dove.
I had yet to breathe. I stood there, unmoving and unable to take my eyes off what I could only describe as the Mary-Kay-by-way-of-Elvis Cadillac of coffins.
Finally, air filled my lungs, and I looked to Leonard, who now appeared to be slightly self-conscious when he saw I wasn’t laughing along with him.
As I rushed to regain my composure, I said, “I think I’ll take that cup of coffee if you don’t mind.”
Leonard nodded and led me back to the kitchen, where he directed me to sit down while he let Patrick out of his cage and then began to brew a fresh pot.
He took his time slicing coffee cake and humming to himself while my brain tried to supply reasonable explanations and I also wondered if I was in the presence of the world’s most fabulous serial killer.
Patrick landed on my finger, stopping me from drumming them, like the bird was telling me he knew just how bizarre all of this was, but he needed me to calm the fuck down if either of us was going to get out of here alive.
Or maybe he was just annoyed by the tapping sound.
Or maybe he was going to poop on me. Something birds had done to me an unusual amount of times.
Patrick perched on the back of an armchair as Leonard served up the coffee and cake. “Well, what do you think?” he asked.
I took a sip of the coffee, which was in a mug from Marfa, Texas, that saidI Saw the Marfa Lights. I didn’t even bother asking for cream, letting the bitterness force my brain into submission. “I think... I think... I’m trying to find a way to say this gently, Leonard. But it’s a coffin, right? So even if you don’t need it now, you will... someday.”
His brow tilted, like he was ready to use that cutting voice on me again like he had in my office.
“And—and I don’t say that because of your age. But if you already have one... why not hold on to it? Hell, I’ll need a coffin one day. Maybe next week. Maybe in fifty years. I don’t know.”
“So you would be interested in buying it, then?” He took a bite of his coffee cake and continued to talk with his hand covering his mouth. “That would certainly solve a lot of problems and I’m willing to part with it far below market value, even though it is unused.”
Oh god. I would hope it was unused. “That’s very generous of you to offer,” I said. “But can I ask why you’re selling it?”
“It doesn’t fit my vision anymore,” he said simply.
“For your funeral?”
He smirked. “You’re not as dull as they say.”
“Who exactly isthey? Did my grandmother call me dull?”
He zipped his fingers over his lips and then stood up to retrieve a tabbed and perfectly color-coded binder from his hutch.
There was a section for flowers, dress code, menu, musical arrangements, and even guides for how he would like his hair, clothing, and makeup to be styled.
“This was The Plan,” he said, flipping through the binder for me to see. “I’m a screenwriter down to my bones. I see the whole picture. So it’s important that I have a vision for every major moment in my life.”
“I’m a writer too.” The moment the words were out of my mouth, I knew they were a lie.
“Are you, now?” Leonard challenged, like he’d heard that line many times before.
Before the conversation turned toward my own doomed writing, I redirected. “So when did your feelings about your funeral change?”
“Well, recently I saw a documentary about environmentally friendly funerals and now I would like to change The Plan.”
I skimmed a page about suggested guest attire that called on Leonard’s loved ones to upstage him if they dared. “But—but this seems so lovely and well thought out and—”
