Truth, Lies, and Second Dates - MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,6

online,” he teased. “Did you know Buzzfeed made a quiz about you?”

“Buzzfeed has made quizzes out of literally everything on the planet, including onions and soup. I’m one of a crowd.”

“No, not you. You’ve always been singular.”

True enough, in the literal sense. It was why she loved hanging out at Casa Monahan. And she was beginning to place Pete, who had been a year or two ahead of her in school. He’d volunteered at the same nursing home. Speaking of …

“Did you hear Shady Oaks finally had to shut down?”

He nodded. “I was astonished it took as long as it did.”

“Right? I mean, those guys were shady when we were there. I guess the drug thing—the latest drug thing—was a bridge too far.”

“Hey, Pete. Here, Ava.”

“Thanks. Nice talking to you, Pete.” She accepted a cup of water from Dennis, profoundly wished it was vodka

(No one understood the Atomic Blonde’s love of vodka like I understood the Atomic Blonde’s love of vodka.)

and sucked it down. She had just decided that getting sloppily drunk at that point in time would be an error of judgment when she heard, “Look what the cat brought … haw!” and turned.

There was Xenia, blinking her big doe fuck-me eyes

(low-cut sparkly black cocktail dress? really?)

while pushing a wheelchair that held, at first glance, Methuselah. Or one of his close relatives.

“My God,” Ava said, staring. “You’re still alive? How is that possible?”

For that she got another “Haw!” from the man in the chair and an expressive eye roll from Xenia. “Welcome home, you sassy brat.”

“It’s not home and it’s nice to see you again, Pat.”

“You too, girlie girl—and I hear it’s ‘Captain’ Capp these days.”

“Wow,” Ava marveled. “You didn’t even use them and I could still see the air quotes.”

Darren Monahan, the patriarch (only Ava got away with calling him Pat for short), though wheelchair bound for years, had the broad, deep chest of a man who used his upper body far more than his legs, as well as the Monahan dark hair and eyes. He was a retired salesman—cars, used cars, farm equipment, furniture, copy machines, insecticide—and in his prime could sell anything to anyone. And had, as half the state could attest.

“Yes, it’s Captain Capp now. Also, keeping tabs on me? Not too creepy, Pat. I’m young enough to be your great-great-great-great-great-granddaughter.”

“Oh, hell no. Think I got nothing better t’do than look you up? That boy Dennis was blathering about you when we got here. And while it’s nice to see your beautiful blank face again—”

“For God’s sake. Three lies in one sentence fragment.”

“—this is one of them times I’m glad my sister isn’t here to see this.” He looked around at the mourners, the poster of Danielle, the flowers. “This woulda killed her. As opposed to the cancer that killed her.”

Ava decided the focus should stay on Danielle and let that pass. “Xenia, did you lose a bet? Is that why you’re on chair detail?”

Xenia laughed. “Yes. And yes!”

“No one needs to be on chair detail,” Pat fussed. He was wearing a black suit, clearly new, with scuffed black dress shoes, clearly old, and couldn’t stop fiddling with his shirt cuffs. “I’m on chair detail.”

“You know those two things can’t be true at the same time, right, Pat?” She made an effort not to stare at his shoes. They made her sad—scuffed, clearly ill cared for—in a way the wheelchair didn’t. Who needed to take care of shoes when you never really used them anymore? They were just … foot decorations.

“That’s enough out of you,” he commanded. “Make yourself useful. Here comes That Boy Dennis. Go see what he wants.”

“Hey, Grandpa.” He turned to Ava. “You know, I was nine before I found out That Boy wasn’t actually part of my name? Nine.”

Ava tried to convey sympathy, exasperation, and gentle sorrow at the same time without saying anything and doubted she was pulling it off. But, just then, most of the group started moving toward the chapel doors.

She let Dennis, Pat, and Xenia pass, then filed in behind them and took a seat toward the back of the chapel. The stone windowless room with the dark wood altar at the front matched her mood. She wasn’t sure she was up to sunlight splashed through stained glass windows and the accompanying clichés about God’s plan and how Danielle was in a better place.

Someone who had never met Danielle talked. And talked. And Ava was meanly glad to note that sitting in the back was making it