Page 157 of For Better or Hearse
Life. It just happens.
They spend the next week together, doing Ash’s choice of activities around Los Angeles. She takes Nathaniel to her favorite five-dollar theater, where they watch a double feature.FrankensteinandFrankenstein’s Bride.
They buy popsicles on Venice Beach and pay too much for mushrooms at the farmers’ market. Nathaniel helps her fix a broken table leg that she’s been putting off since the last blackout. They meet Augustus for patty melts at his favorite greasy diner, Lancers. Drive him to his weekly doctor appointment, where they learn about his next steps. They meet her parents too. Her mother pulls out baby photos. Her father his trains. Nathaniel’s a good sport. They talk travel and coconut cakes, and at the end of the night, her mother is mouthingwe love himfrom the porch, and Ash has to lasso the giddiness blooming beneath her skin and control it.
They do the tedious, boring things like picking up her insulin at the pharmacy or grocery shopping. Then there are the lovely glimmers of happy. Eating dinner in Ash’s tiny kitchen, watching the sunset from her patio with ice-cold glasses of wine, making love at midnight and in the early hours of the morning when a lilac dawn is just breaking.
It’s not paradise. Not anymore.
It’s normal life stuff, and, somewhat shockingly, it’s just as nice.
Better even. Because it’s real.
On day four, Ash gives Nathaniel an unofficial tour of Hollywood Forever Cemetery. She tells him about the old Hollywood actresses, points out the almost unnoticeable grave of aspiring actress Virginia Rappe and tells him the chilling tale of her death.
Afterward, they go to the Hollywood Roosevelt Hotel for drinks.
“This is my absolute favorite spot in LA.” She tugs him into the lobby. “Overpriced drinks and celebrity sightings.”
He leans into her, curling an arm around her shoulders. “How many ghosts?” His warm breath sends shivers down her spine.
She laughs, delighted. “Not ghosts,theghost,” she recounts spookily. “Marilyn Monroe lived here for two years. They say she still haunts room 1200.”
They claim a seat at the Rosy Café at the Tropicana Bar and order bar bites and cocktails. Surrounded by lush greenery, they have a prime view of the art deco pool and its eclectic crowd. A poolside DJ spins the latest hits at ear-blasting decibels.
Nathaniel looks perfectly placed, perfectly sexy in his casual slacks and linen shirt with the cuffs rolled up. His devastatingly beautiful face carves up her heart a little more each day.
“Feels like I’m back in Hawaii,” Nathaniel murmurs, scanning the space.
“I miss it,” she says. “I didn’t think I would, but I do.”
He reaches across the table and links his long fingers with hers. His eyes darken as he looks at her. “We’ll go back.”
She swallows back the lump forming in her throat. “We will?”
“Or we can try someplace new. Whatever you want.”
His promise eases the uncertainty that plagues her when she thinks about what happens after this. Nothing to misunderstand about that statement. They’re together.
“What if, after this, we go back to your place and pack a bag? Go to my place.”
“See how Doctor Nathaniel Whitford lives?” Ash teases. “I picture your entire place wallpapered with scrubs. Maybe a jar of hearts on the mantel.”
He smiles, but he’s visibly distracted with checking his phone. He’s been that way since the cemetery. Checking it like he’s waiting for a text or a call.
A pit opens in her stomach. A reminder that this is all still temporary. In a week, he could be on his way to the North Sea. Aside from these next few days, they haven’t discussed how this will work. If it will.
IfI love youis in their vocabulary.
She’s practiced. Saying it in front of the mirror in the middle of the night while Nathaniel sleeps. It should be easy.Let’s do this. Let’s do this forever. Let’s tell the universe that we are in love.But the words stick.
Brows bunched, Ash asks, “Everything okay?”
He nods, running a hand over his flexing jaw. Inhaling a hard breath, he leans in, as if he’s about to tell her something, but he’s interrupted by another voice.
“Ash?”
She stiffens. The sound cuts through her like a knife. Rocking her with memories she’d rather set on fire.