Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,5

1,001 was not flattering in the least. Not that it was about being flattered. Right?

“Well, I’m on the road a lot,” she said, gesturing to the bustling to-and-fro of the Minneapolis–Saint Paul International Airport. You know, with … the flying.”

“Which is why we sent multiple invites.”

“But, again: on the road.”

“The last two were sent certified. We know you got them.”

“Oh. Well. That settles it, I guess.” There was a long, difficult pause. “So, you guys can legally bang, huh?”

Four

THE LIST

Feign appendicitis to get out of memorial

Never ever ever stay in Minnesota longer than ninety minutes ever ever again

Seriously, skin is flaking like a snake—moisturizer!

After googling appendicitis symptoms, Ava decided to bite the bullet (which, if done literally and then swallowed, might have mimicked appendicitis symptoms) and just go already. She had nowhere to be until 0700 tomorrow—another pilot had asked for her Boston and D.C. hops.

Which is why she was pulling into the Crisp and Gross Funeral Home (after a quick stop at CVS to pick up some lotion—all that time in the air wreaked havoc on her skin) at 6:30 P.M. on a Saturday night.

Who are you kidding? It wasn’t like you had a hot date lined up.

No, it wasn’t like that. Though she’d never had any trouble finding someone to fill a spot in her (hotel) bed, seeing Dennis had thrown her off her game. And speaking of …

“Thanks for coming.” He was standing on the sidewalk in front of the two-story building that looked like one of those older Tudor-style buildings: dark roof, stone instead of bricks, weathered. Dennis had changed and looked smart in dark slacks, a pale blue shirt, navy blazer, matching tie, all of which artfully set off his stubble. Dennis was a master of “scruffy on purpose while pretending it’s not on purpose.” “Gotta admit, I had my doubts.”

“How else would we have continued our incredibly awkward conversation about whether or not you’re committing incest if I didn’t come?”

“Yeah, God forbid we put that to bed. So to speak.”

She groaned. He smiled back, stepped aside and gestured, then courteously followed her in.

The first thing she saw was a huge blowup of Danielle’s senior picture, the one where her brunette hair looked like a cloud instead of pulled back in her habitual ponytail, her eyes were artfully smoky with a professional makeup application, and her long fingers (tipped with artificial pastel-pink nails) were cupping her chin, emphasizing the point. The photo she fucking hated. “It’s what they want me to look like,” she’d explained. “Not what I actually look like.”

And there it is in a nutshell, she thought, staring at the poster. Her folks didn’t get it then, and they don’t get it now.

The second thing she noticed was the banner hanging over the door into the chapel: WE CELEBRATE LIFE!, which was a cold lie.

Still not too late to feign appendicitis.

No, no. Better to suck it up and endure. And it wasn’t like there would be much interaction—to her surprise, there were only about a dozen people milling around, speaking quietly.

“Isn’t that a wonderful picture of dear Danielle?”

and saying absolutely nothing.

“Hello, Ava.”

She turned and saw a short, slender man about her own age, dressed in a beautifully cut black suit, blinking at her through Versace eyeglass frames and holding out a small, slim hand.

“Oh. Hello.” She shook his hand and wondered if it would be better to pretend to know him or admit straight-out that she had no idea—

“It’s Pete. Crisp?”

Dilemma overcome. “Of course, sure. Pete Crisp.” Of the Crisp and Gross Funeral Home, no less. His generation was the second or third to run the place. “How are you?”

“Bewildered.” He glanced around the funeral home. “I haven’t been back here for years. Not since my cousin took over.”

“Oh, God, tell me about it. Why do people think nostalgia is so great? Everything about this place is…”

“Yes.”

“And it’s all so…”

“Yes.”

“So what have you been up to? Are you a pharmacist now? Or a drug rep?” She had a vague memory of him wanting to invent the cure for cancer or, if not, to market the cure for cancer.

“No, I moved to Scotland after I got my computer science degree. Liked it so much I never came back. These days I move around depending on the job.” He shrugged. “I’m never in the same place for long. So we have something in common, Captain Bellyflopper.”

“Nope. Not discussing that right now. Today is about Danielle.”

“You don’t have to discuss it. I read all about it