Not Another One Hit Wonder

Chapter 2-2

By the time we manage to leave the house, ten minutes have come and gone. I should’ve told Taylor I’d see him in fifteen—I still have to drop off Riley on my way—but now it looks like it’s going to be closer to twenty before I show up. Riley’s hair has deflated a bit, but the ends still fly away from her shoulders and face. If I had a few minutes more, I’d smooth it out and braid it, and I’m tempted to do just that until I glance at the time and realize how late it is.

Damn.

“Did you bring a hairbrush?” I ask as Riley stomps down the stairs.

She wears a pink sundress that flounces when she jumps, flashing a pair of blue and purple shorts beneath it. When she sees me at the bottom of the steps, she grins and stomps down hard with both feet.

“Riley? Answer me.”

She smiles harder and jumps again. If I have to wait for her to come down every step that way, we’ll be here all day.

“Riley,” I warn. “We have to get moving.”

Her smile turns into a grimace, and she sticks her tongue out at me playfully. “I’m coming, Daddy, jeez. The person’s already dead—”

“Come on.”

She’s close enough now for me to grab her wrist and tug her along. As she hurries down the steps, her feet slip over the carpet, threatening to slide out from under her. “Daddy, stop!” she cries, clutching my arm. “You’re gonna make me fall!”

“No, I won’t. I’ve got you.” And before she can fall, I catch her under the arms and pick her up. My lower back protests, but I’m through playing. Swinging her around, I set her on the landing then step back to brush at the front of my suit jacket.

That’s one setback to owning a funeral parlor—I always dress like a mortician when I have to go to work. Shined shoes, pants with a crease ironed down the front of each leg, a matching jacket over a dress shirt, hand-knotted tie. Everything in a somber color—dark gray or brown for an average day at the office, black when we have a service scheduled. We don’t do casual Fridays at Eckert’s. We don’t wear jeans, it wouldn’t be professional, not even to a removal.

Besides, I’m heading into work afterward, so this way I don’t have to come home and change.

Riley’s sneakers are on the floor by the front door. As she pulls them on, I get her book bag and lunchbox, then grab a small hairbrush from the bathroom off the hall. “Come on,” I tell her as I breeze past the stairs on my way out.

“Daddy, wait!” she screeches. “My sneaks!”

“You can put them on in the car.”

On the porch I stand with the door open, my hands full of her things, and wait for her to follow. Her shoes have Velcro strips instead of laces, but she still takes her sweet time. Finally she stands, satisfied, and starts towards me.

In the doorway, her face crumples. “My lunch!”

I hold up her lunchbox. “Got it. Your school bag, too. And a brush, so let’s go. Hup hup.”

Sometimes that gets her going, sometimes not. Fortunately for me, today it works like a charm, because she skips out onto the porch and launches herself off the top step to the sidewalk below. She doesn’t quite make it, landing on the third step down, but she coils up and tries again. Anything to draw this out.

I lock the door and hurry down the steps, passing her before she can jump a third time. In a stern voice, I tell her, “I’m going to leave you here all by yourself if you’re not at the car by the time I get there.”

“Race you!” Abandoning one game for another, Riley sprints past me and disappears into the open garage. I hear her run into the side of the car with a hollow thud, then she calls out, “I win! I win!”

Juggling everything into one hand, I dig my keys out from my pocket and press the button on the fob to unlock the door. Hopefully she’ll be strapped in and ready to go by the time I get there.

If I’m lucky, I’ll get to the removal sometime this morning. How can I reprimand Taylor for being lazy if he gets there before I do?

Hell, at the rate I’m going, Molly will ream me out when I finally show up.

* * * *

I take Riley to Mrs. Duran’s so often, my car can practically drive the short route between my house and hers without any input from me.

As it is, I’m on auto-pilot myself, half-listening to Riley talking to me in the back seat and half-listening to the news on the radio, paying little attention to anything else. This early in the morning, the suburban streets are empty. I have one hand on the steering wheel, one eye on the road, and my mind mulling over the text Molly sent earlier. For some reason, the address for the removal rings a faint bell I can’t quite put my finger on. Lakeside Avenue isn’t far from where I live…

We’re almost there. At the end of the street where I turn onto the road where Mrs. Duran lives, there’s a stoplight that catches me every time. It’s green as I approach but the moment I get near enough, I trigger something that changes it from yellow to red before I reach the intersection. I never make the light, and since I have to turn left to go to the Durans’ home, I always have to sit and wait for it to change, even when there’s no other traffic coming.

Today I’m almost happy the light catches me, though. I want to double check that address. There’s something about it that bothers me…

Before I even come to a complete stop, I dig my phone out of my pocket. Behind me, Riley kicks out one leg and barely manages to nudge the back of my seat with the toe of her sneaker. “Daddy, look,” she says.

Without glancing up from my phone, I nod. “Uh-huh.”

“Red lights, Daddy.”

“Yes, it’s a red light, dear.” I scroll through the texts, looking for the address. I must’ve missed a few while I was getting dressed, because at some point Taylor replied saying he was running late. Join the club, kid. Maybe I’ll get there before him after all.

I find the address—233 Lakeside Avenue, that isn’t far at all. Who lives on Lakeside that I know? The address sounds so familiar. Sitting back, I stare past the red light and try to think.

It’s difficult with Riley kicking my seat, though. “Daddy, look,” she says again.

Half-turning, I snap, “What, honey? We’re at a red light, yes. It’ll change in a minute.”

“No, there.” She points out the side window to her left. I have to turn around to see what she’s talking about.

Down the street we’re about to turn on, an ambulance is parked at the curb, its strobing red lights silent. I know what that means. I’ll be getting another call soon.

No, wait.

My gaze drifts up to the street sign at the corner. From my vantage point, I can barely make out the word Lakeside.

Wait…

I take another look at the ambulance, then look past the flashing lights to the house behind it. No. It can’t be. It isn’t…

Clapping her hands, Riley announces, “That’s where Mrs. Duran lives!”

Shit. My phone falls from my numb fingers to the passenger seat.

“Green light, Daddy,” Riley tells me. “That means you can go.”