“Come on, Celia, just stay with us for at least a few days. I don’t want you in this house all alone. Besides, I’ll be leaving for summer session next week. I want to spend time with my best friend,” Audrey pleads.

I shake my head and give her a tiny smile. “I appreciate it, but I need to be here. I feel closer to her in this house. Her things are here … it smells like her.”

“How about I stay here with you? I’ll grab my pajamas and be right back.” Audrey is already in the process of standing when I nudge her knee to sit her back down.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Aud, but I’d like to be alone. Between the funeral and the bingo bitties bringing casseroles by all afternoon, I want to enjoy the silence tonight.”

“Okay,” Audrey says, sounding defeated.

“I’ll be fine.” I give her a tiny smile to reassure her, but I doubt I’m very convincing.

“I love you, Celia.” She averts her eyes and breathes deep, warding off the tears building in her eyes. “You’re my family … my sister. You are not alone.”

“I love you, too, Audrey. Always.”

Her words are a balm to my soul. I can’t shake the emptiness I feel knowing Grams was my last living relative. My mother never confided in Grams about my father, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s dead, too. It’s sobering to know I’m all alone in the world. Audrey and the Landrys are the closest thing to family I have now.

She makes no move to leave. She watches me closely, waiting for something. For what, I don’t know.

I decide to stand and walk into the kitchen. Although I’m not hungry, I feel weak. It may be a good idea to shove something down before I pass out. Lord knows, I’ve got more than enough to choose from in the form of covered dishes.

“Celia, wait,” Audrey says. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m so sorry Lucas wasn’t there for you today. It’s … it’s inexcusable, and I plan to march across the street right now and throat punch his sorry ass.”

I try to wave her off, but I can see it’s only making her angrier. She takes my dismissal as a sign that I’m okay with his behavior, and it only further irritates her. She’s oblivious to Lucas’s problems, and without that knowledge, I’m not sure I can make her understand. The hard truth is I didn’t want Lucas there today.

From the moment I told him about Grams, he spun a web of conspiracy that made Watergate seem like child’s play. No matter how much I tried to talk him down, he was convinced her death was a ploy to get him out in public. Without the safeguards of his house, his thoughts would surely be stolen. He swears the ‘reinforcements’ he’s built are keeping him safe—they look like strange sculptures crafted out of aluminum foil to me, but what do I know? Not much, according to him.

I just couldn’t deal with it today. I wanted to say goodbye to Grams without worrying about how Lucas would handle things. I deserve that, and so does she. So when I suggested him staying home, a huge weight lifted off me when he readily agreed. I can’t bring myself to feel guilty about it.

Trying my hardest to choose words that will placate Audrey, I smile and shrug. “He’s been so good with me the past few days, Audrey, but you know how he can be with crowds. He gets so nervous and pushes to leave—I couldn’t deal with that today. Him staying home today was for the best. Things are difficult with Lucas right now, but everything will be fine, I promise.”

Audrey doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. She opens the front door and steps across the threshold before turning to me. “If you say so, Celia, but I’ll kick his ass if you need me to. Hell, I’ll even enjoy it. Just say the word, and I’ll start the beat down.”

I laugh, and it sounds forced, even to my own ears. “I promise.”

As the door closes behind her, I close my eyes and accept the weight of another promise made.

A rustling in the front of the house jolts me awake, and I stretch my stiff legs. I swing my nylon-covered legs over the side of the bed, having never changed from my funeral attire. I was too exhausted to change, much less shower, once Audrey left last night. I curled up on top of Grams’s bed with one of her crocheted blankets and fell into the darkness surrounded by her scents and her things.

For a brief second, for a beautiful fleeting moment, I think Grams must be getting a midnight snack. Then reality sinks into my gut, reminding of the events of the last week.

But if she isn’t in the kitchen, who is?

I tiptoe to the bedroom door and peer around the corner. I see shadows on the living room floor of a person standing in the kitchen. The refrigerator door opens, and I hear a familiar mumble.

“You’re right, it’s the only way to fix this. I have to end it all before I ruin everything,” he whispers frantically. “I know, I know.”

I run my fingers through my hair and steel myself for a struggle. It’s always a struggle these days. I fight for patience, and he fights for understanding. I wish I had more to give him, but it’s so difficult.

“Lucas, what are you—” As I round the corner into the kitchen, my words vanish and time stops as my eyes fall upon Lucas stabbing himself in the arm with a needle. My blood-curdling scream fills the house, every crack and dent of it, and thankfully diverts Lucas’s attention for a few life-saving seconds.

I lurch forward, and his eyes widen in fear. I slap the needle from his arm, and it falls to the floor with a deafening clatter. We are both silent, as if waiting to see who will make the first move. My eyes dart to the counter behind him, and, in an instant, everything makes sense to me.

“Did you push the plunger at all?” I whisper.

“W-what?” His eyes keep following movement behind me, and I turn my head to see.

Nothing.

“Did you push any of the insulin into your arm?” My words are cold and purposeful.

He looks away and shakes his head. I allow a moment of relief to wash over me. I let the silence settle in, staring at him, waiting for his eyes. Finally, after a lifetime, he meets my gaze. My hand slaps his cheek with such force, his head jerks to the side before coming back to look at me again. A sob racks through my body as I swing again, but he catches my wrist this time.

“You son of a bitch!” I scream as I shove him back into the counter and beat my fists on his sagging chest. “How can you do this to me? How dare you?”

My legs crumble underneath me, and I fall on my knees, rage coursing through my veins. Lucas comes to me, tries to wrap his arms around me, but I resist. I will not allow him to console me.

I grab the syringe off the floor and depress the plunger, shooting the medicine onto the floor. I scramble to my feet and throw open a kitchen drawer and pull out the first thing that will work—a meat mallet. I slam the mallet on the counter three times, smashing each vial of insulin into crumbled pieces of glass and metal. I release my fingers, and the mallet clambers onto the counter. Hands spread on the counter and head lowered, I breathe. I try to erase the near memory of another person I love lying helpless on the floor.

“I can’t live this way, Celia,” he whispers into the silence. “It’s for the best. I’m only hurting you this way.”

I whip around and charge him, my finger digging into his chest. “For the best? Leaving me all alone, killing yourself on the day of my grandmother’s funeral is what is best for me? For you? You and your family are all I have left in this world, and you’re trying to leave me?”

His eyes lift through lowered lashes. “I’m nothing but a burden to you. They tell me how you look at me when my back is turned. The repulsion in your eyes, the hate written all over your face, and I can’t even blame you. I’m disgusted with myself, too. I’m tired of this life.”