Page 21 of Miserable Marionette

What is with nobody in this damn town knowing how to whisper?!

My cheeks flush as Jim glances up, nervously shooting Gideon a smile. I know all too well what it’s like to be the subject of his attention. He used to make adults uncomfortable as a child; I can’t imagine how intimidating he is now. Especially considering even I’m taller than Jim Kessler at a whopping five foot six.

I shoot Jim another smile but ignore him too. Politely, of course, because I work here.

“Oh dear. You’re tense, loosen up a bit, son. You aren’t dressing for war,” Mrs. Johnson chastises Gideon, artfully cutting through the tension in the room with her old lady charm.

I’m being childish, but hell… this feels more horrific than I’d imagined, and I’ve spent ten years imagining. Daydreaming and night dreaming about what his homecoming would look like. It certainly didn’t involve petulantly ignoring him. I want to show him I’m great, unaffected. That I got over it. Got over what he did. Maybe next time I will. Maybe next time, if I have time to prepare, if I’m not… caught off guard, it’ll be believable.

Jim and I fall into a comfortable silence as I work, pretending not to be heavily invested in the conversation behind me as Mr. Johnson again joins the fray, all of his afternoon coffee buddies long departed. Not to be confused with his morning coffee buddies or the evening ones. None of which I think even own a suit that’s seen the light of day since before I was born, save for the occasional wedding or wake.

“Sorry about the loss of Jackson. A kind, troubled soul he was. It’s a shame the funeral home won’t be staying in the family,” Mrs. Johnson comments.

“Thank you.” Gideon’s voice is just as flat and aloof as ever; it shouldn’t make my stomach knot. It really, really shouldn’t. There was a time I loved his cold, calm demeanor. Where it seemed to unsettle everyone else… for me, he was the steady rock in a wailing storm. It annoyed me at times, a lot of times, sure, but it was just part of the thing that made him, him.

“Anyone lined up to take the helm?” Mr. Johnson cuts in.

“Just me, for now. Although I have been considering keeping it.”

My hands pause, my breath hitching.

“Oh, that would be lovely!” Mrs. Johnson coos from beside me. “It’s been in the Bell family for three generations! Your father would—"

Mr. Johnson cuts his wife off. I can’t see her, but I can picture the daggers she threw him for it. "I can’t imagine you leaving your big funeral director job for our little old town.”

“I’m an ME actually,” Gideon corrects gently, his voice mimicking their flow of conversation. I wonder if anyone else can feel how surface-level it is. Like honey on velvet, but the honey’s gone off.

“ME, what in the world is what?” Jim finally chimes in, and I lose my only ally in the war against Gideon Bell.

“I’m a medical examiner up in Piedmont. When a death is sudden or unexpected—"

“When people get murdered, he plays Sherlock,” Mr. Johnson cuts in helpfully.

Gideon chuckles. “Not so glamorous as Holmes, but yes.”

Jim makes some approving sounds. “Piedmont. Whereabouts is that?”

“Washington State.”

My hands slow again. So far away…

“So that’s where you two buggered off to,” Mr. Johnson cuts in louder than necessary, like always. “Hell, when your old man would make his trips back, it was hard enough to get him to look at us, let alone speak. Suppose you can’t blame the guy after finding your poor mom the way he did.”

“Bill!” Mrs. Johnson scolds, and I’ve all but stopped working.

“It’s alright. The loss was hard on all of us.” Gideon adds the last part like an afterthought.

A strange boy turned into a strange man.

I almost smile.

Almost.

“I can’t imagine that poor man working on her. It made me ill thinking about it back then. God, I hope he didn’t have you help on that one. A growing boy shouldn’t see his mama like that. It was bad enough you found her.” Mr. Johnson keeps going, never the one for mincing words, and I’m sure his wife’s face is turning an alarming shade of red by now.

The next pass I make with the thread is shaky, the needle barely scraping Jim’s calf, but he’s too engrossed in the disturbing turn in conversation to mind. Gideon did help, though. It was one of the worst nights of my life. And that’s saying something because I had several around that time. I’d snuck in. I just wanted to check on him and Mr. Bell to make sure they were okay. I’ll never get the image of him out of my head. It was the first time I’d looked past the double doors. Years of half living in that house and I never looked. I wish I hadn’t that day either. Her body was—

“Audrey, you good down there, dear? Need help?” Ms. Johnson asks, quickly changing the subject.