Page 40 of The Dearly Departed

But life wasn’t about being happy, was it?

For some of us, it was about simply staying on this side of the dirt for as long as possible.

Sometimes, I didn’t even understand the point in that.

***

At eight o’clock on Halloween night, Shawn and Ike walked down the hall, tuxedos on and masks in hand.

The party was a masquerade ball, from the looks of the masks they held, and a twinge of jealousy came to life as I watched them tighten their bow ties and check themselves in the mirror in the foyer.

“You can come,” Shawn said as if he could read my mind.

“I don’t want to go,” I said, and it was the truth.

I didn’t.

I just wondered if I would ever feel the freedom to live my life rather than simply maintaining it. There was just always too much to do, too many people to assist and protect and prepare for a burial.

Shawn nodded, not pressing the matter. “All right. We’ll see you later. Probably won’t be back until the morning.”

“Or tomorrow afternoon,” Ike replied with a wink, already heading out the door with his mask in place.

Shawn sighed, rolling his eyes toward me. “He’s gonna be so wasted; he’s not gonna be able to get it up.”

“Don’t let him drive himself home,” I warned, looking up from my spot on the couch.

“Nah, I’m driving,” he assured me. “And if I have to, I’ll call him a cab.”

I gave him a single nod before turning my attention back toward the window. Watching for the costumed ghouls and goblins brave enough to dare a chance at getting candy from the spooky old funeral home.

Shawn let me know he had his phone, wished me a good night, and left with a spring in his step.

Years ago, he’d told me he thought Shelby could be the one, and considering they had been together for years, I wondered if he was right. I wondered if, one day, they’d get married, and he’d eventually leave the security of his home here.

Would I feel a little freer if he did? Or would I still somehow feel responsible for his life and safety, alongside his wife and future children?

Would all my attention go solely toward Isaac and his penchant for getting into bar fights and road-rage-fueled drag races?

How close is he to prison? I wondered as two witches wandered up the walkway. He’s been lucky so far, but even a cat has only nine lives.

How many of my own have I used up?

I tugged my plague doctor mask on and stood to open the door. The girls froze in the middle of the walkway at the sight of my towering frame, donning my usual uniform of a black three-piece suit, complete with a black button-down shirt and a new tie, replaced after I’d given mine to Robert Martin. The hood attached to the mask concealed my dark hair, laying over my neck and capping my shoulders, and I smirked at the terror in their eyes.

At the end of the walk was a woman a little older than me, perhaps in her late thirties or early forties. She looked at me, startled, but then encouraged the girls to be brave.

I don’t see you running up here yourself, lady, I thought, holding the bowl of candy out to the girls.

A peace offering, if you would.

“Trick or treat,” they said warily in unison.

I nodded, wordlessly, and held the bowl out further as they climbed the steps.

Without taking their eyes off me, they each selected a single piece of candy, then retreated with muttered thank-yous and a single, “Happy Halloween,” before running back the way they had come.

The mother lifted her hand—a weak little wave—and called, “Have a good night.”