Jagged

This indicated to me that Mick’s visit was not good.

Ham looked at me, did a quick assessment of my emotional stability with his eyes, then stepped aside, murmuring, “As you can see from her face, I told her.”

“Mm-hmm,” Mick murmured back as he walked in and stopped across the room from me. With his eyes on me, I noted they were also sad.

For me.

Mick Shaughnessy was a good man, always was.

“Sorry for your loss, Zara,” he said.

“Lost her a long time ago, Mick.”

“I know, girl. Doesn’t mean this doesn’t bring it fresh,” Mick replied.

My lip started quivering. I caught it between my teeth and nodded.

“You had somethin’ to say?” Ham prompted. He’d closed the door and was standing a few feet to Mick’s side, arms crossed on his chest.

“Asked some questions,” Mick told Ham, and then his eyes moved to me. “Got some answers. Didn’t muck about gettin’ to you, seein’ as time is of the essence but, there’s a graveside ceremony for your sister today at Gnaw Bone Memorial Cemetery, Zara. Three o’clock. No service at a mortuary and, since no one knows about this, figure the graveside services are closed. But I reckon—”

He got no further.

Even still in my nightgown, I planted a hand in the back of the couch, tossed my legs over it, and called, “Thanks Mick!” behind me as I raced down the hall to Ham’s bedroom.

* * *

“It would probably be a good thing, if Dad’s a dick, that you didn’t punch him or something,” I noted in the truck as I wrung my hands in my lap and Ham drove us to the cemetery.

Ham was wearing a dark-gray suit, deep-blue shirt, and even a nice black tie patterned in muted blues, greens, and grays.

I’d never seen Ham in a suit and he rocked it.

I was wearing the slim-fitting black dress I’d worn to my friend Kim’s funeral years ago. Its lines were classic so luckily I didn’t look like an out-of-style goofball. Also luckily, I didn’t throw it away one of the million times I saw it in my closet, remembered Kim, her diagnosis of cancer, her very brief three-month fight with it, which mostly consisted of making her comfortable through it, and her funeral.

But I vowed to toss it in the trash after I took it off when we got home.

“Other way to look at that is, it would probably be a good thing for your dad not to be a dick so I won’t punch him or something,” Ham returned and I looked to him.

“Babe, we have to be cool. We can’t get in graveside brawls right before suing for custody.”

Ham glanced at me before looking back at the road. “Cookie, honestly, you think I’m gonna get in a bust-up with your dad at your sister’s funeral?”

“You’re unpredictable, lately,” I shared.

That got me another glance, this one surprised, before he asked, “How’s that?”

“Committed. Possessive. Forthcoming. You were always awesome but you’re exponentially awesome… er,” I explained.

I caught his grin before he asked, “I’m awesome… er?”

“Exponentially awesomer,” I corrected.

That was when I got a chuckle and Ham’s hand snaked out to grab mine and take firm hold.

“I’ll be cool, Zara. Wouldn’t do anything to fuck things up. Yeah?” he said quietly.

“Yeah,” I replied, squeezing his hand.

He returned the squeeze and kept hold of my hand.

“You gonna be able to do this?” he asked.

I knew what he was asking and it wasn’t about being graveside at my sister’s funeral.

It was about seeing my mom and dad again.

“I’ll likely require intravenous vodka after this is over but, yeah. For Xenia, I’ll do this,” I answered.

“Now that, baby, that’s awesome,” he replied, his deep approval unhidden.

I let the warmth of that move through me before I looked forward and began efforts to steel myself against seeing my father, my mother, and whoever else they deigned to invite. They didn’t have a lot of friends but the ones they chose were nearly as awful as they were.

Therefore, I didn’t figure we’d be in good company.

This sucked.

Not for me, for Xenia. My sister liked a good party. She was always social. Everyone liked her and she liked everyone except my dad, mom, aunts, and their friends. Therefore, during her last hurrah, those being the only attendees at this particular party was unfortunate.

Luckily, Mick got to us in the nick of time and she’d have at least one person she gave a crap about there.

I was closing in on having it all together when the wrought-iron arch of Gnaw Bone Memorial Cemetery came into view. My body went into hyperdrive trying not to fall apart.

As sick as this sounded, Gnaw Bone Memorial Cemetery was pretty cool. When we were in high school, my friends and I, including Xenia, used to go out there and hang out all the time. On the side of a mountain, its views sweeping, and nothing around it, so its feel was serene. It was also the resting spot for folks who lived in our town before it was our town.

Old gravestones and unusual, old-fashioned names gave credence to local lore that said that Wild West gunslingers were buried here—along with whores, gamblers, and prospectors. Suddenly, I saw myself going to Carnal Library and talking to Faye Goodknight. I bet there were local history books at the library. And I bet if I read those history books, I could tell my nephew all about the history of the town where his mother was born and where he was, hopefully, going to grow up.

That thought cinched my armor together, snug, no chinks, no way to get through no matter how much of a dick my dad could be.

Ready for this.

Not surprisingly, we were not met with faces wreathed with welcoming smiles as Ham and I parked.

I ignored this as I gathered up the flowers Ham called in while I was getting ready and we swung by the flower shop to pick up. We got out of the cab and made our way toward the graveside complete with elevated casket covered in an ostentatious spray of yellow roses that pissed me off because Xenia hated yellow.

As Ham and I made our way toward the casket, I noted, if the look on his face was anything to go by, Dad was very not cool with my appearance at the cemetery. And if he thought he could get away with it, I figured he’d launch himself at me, grab my arm, haul me back to Ham’s truck, and forcibly shove me inside. Luckily, Ham was a bruiser and the pastor was there so Dad remained where he was and instead shot daggers at us from his eyes.

I avoided faces and concentrated on the not-so-easy trek through the grass in my spike-heeled pumps. I did this partly because I didn’t like these people but mostly because I didn’t want to lock eyes with my mom.

Dad, I hated.

Mom, any thought of her hurt me.

He was just a dick.

Mom, I didn’t get.

It wasn’t like, back in the day, I expected heroics, like her jumping in front of Xenia or me (mostly Xenia) and taking our beating. Dad was a big guy and Mom was an inch shorter than me and I wasn’t exactly tall. I could see why she wouldn’t do that because he’d just lose his mind, beat her down, and then haul off and wail on us anyway.

But I didn’t understand why she didn’t do something.

She had two sisters, too, and they were actually nice. Sure, they’d both moved out of state and stayed there but it wasn’t like Mom didn’t know how to drive a car or dial a phone.

Even if she felt their distance didn’t make them an option, I couldn’t fathom why she didn’t go to Mick. As cops go, he was pretty approachable and even back then, when he wasn’t head honcho, he