Page 36 of Sincerely, Butterfly

EIGHT

NOLA

The smileon my face is big and frantic. “Wrong floor.” I laugh out as I jam my finger against the button to close the door.

“Not so fast,” he says, stepping forward to shove his arm between the doors as they start to close.

“So close,” I groan.

“Nola, want to tell me why you’re here in the middle of the night? And where the hell is your shirt?”

“Oh.” I look down at my bra. “Shit.”

“Cover up,” he mutters, not meeting my eyes as he takes his hoodie off and hands it to me.

“Thanks,” I mumble, taking it like a child who’s just been scolded and putting it on. Nothing is more awkward than your dad seeing you indecent.

“Better,” he tells me once I’m fully clothed once more. “Okay, let’s try this again. What are you doing here? I thought you were at a party.”

“I was,” I tell him.

“And now you’re here with…” he looks down at the gurney. “Nola… is that a body?”

“No!” I say quickly. “It’s uhh… um… a gator. I hit it on the way home. Not wanting to leave the poor guy to die in an undignified way, I took him off the street so he wouldn't get hit again and make a mess. And you know he could have caused an accident. You should be glad I’m okay. And that I saved other people, too.”

“Uh-huh,” he says slowly. “So rather than throw it in a ditch, you thought you would bring it here? To what?”

“Cremate him,” I answer meekly. “I’m gonna spread his ashes in the Bayou tomorrow,” I quickly add.

Damn, look at me go. I’m killing this covering my ass thing.

“Yeah, I’m not buying it,” he says, and my smile drops. “Let’s start again. Is this a body, Nola?”

Biting my lower lip, for the first time tonight, I grow nervous with fear. Not because I think he’s going to call the cops, but I would hate to disappoint my dad.

“Maybe,” I grumble, casting my eyes down.

“Want to tell me how you ended up with a dead body?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I found it on the side of the road and I’m trying to do the right thing by disposing of it properly?” I ask hopefully.

“No,” he replies with a blank face.

“Fine,” I huff in frustration as I throw my arms in the air. “The bitch had it coming, okay? You should have heard the things she was saying to me, Dad. She was mean, fucking cruel. And!” I shout. “She tried to take my men away from me. They’re mine, dad. Mine!”

“Men?” His brows furrow. “As in more than one? Who the hell are you dating?”

“Doesn’t matter.” I wave my hand in dismissal. “What does matter is I had to shut her up… with my knife… in her throat.”

“So… you killed her?” he asks me slowly.

“I did. And I’m sorry. Not the part where I killed her, but because I very much enjoyed it. I’m sorry because I disappointed you. I didn’t mean to. It’s just… there's only so much I can take, you know? I tried, I really tried to keep my impulses and intrusive thoughts to myself. I’ve been doing really fucking good. Trust me, Dad, you should be proud this didn’t happen a lot sooner.”

My chest heaves as the word vomit just spills out at an alarming rate.

I blink at him, waiting for him to get upset, to yell, to tell me how fucked up I am, or how wrong all this is.

But he doesn’t. He… laughs.Is he laughing?