A Lover's Wish (2 page)

“Ms. Sanderson, the director will see you now,” the secretary called in one of those sickeningly sweet voices that would annoy the hell out of anyone.

Kianna stood. She wondered why the secretary was so cheerful. The woman had been smiling ever since Kianna walked in for her appointment. Was this woman too dumb to realize she worked in a funeral home—a place where no one wanted to see a smile? It was like the woman had that smile stapled onto her face, a permanent fixture and she would die should she stop smiling. Kianna hated people like that. They were the kind of people that woke up happy—the kind that you could hit them with your car and they would look at you, smile then say,
don’t worry about it, accidents happen!
and giggle with a shrug. They drove her

mad, made her blood boil. It was not understandable to her how a person could always be happy. It wasn’t natural.

The woman ain’t right.

There had to be some kind of pill or injection or tea that made someone that way. But then again, one can always tell what was on the outside of a person, but have no clue what was on the inside. The inside could be a storm, a darkness.

Damn happy people.

Biting back a growl at the woman, Kianna barely refrained from hissing. She swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat while using one hand to straighten her skirt, then her jacket. Taking in a deep breath, she still had the cheque gripped to her chest with her other hand. Kianna bid her feet to move her toward the office. Walking into the room, she swore that the people working in the funeral home had no clue what it felt like to be mourning. First there was the secretary with that stupid smile on her damn face and now this? The walls were painted an ungodly bright blue. It was as though they were trying to take people’s mind off the fact that it was a funeral home and that they would have to fork over big money to bury someone they loved.

When the door closed behind her with a distinct click, she jerked around and looked at it. It was her trap. Kianna knew it, a fact there was no

turning back once that door closed behind her. It was strange how life worked. Everything that she had ever dreamt of doing with that money she had been saving over the years was gone. One stroke and a suicide later, she was fresh out of dreams, hope and the will to live. Biting down against her lower lip, she stood before the man’s desk, waiting on him to look up from the file he was scribbling in.

The office was dark and depressing. Not only were the walls painted in that dumb blue colour that looked as though they had given it one too many coats, but there were no windows and only two small bulbs in the ceiling gave any light at all. Pictures of Abraham Lincoln and landscapes hung askew on the walls and she wondered when the last time someone had gone through and fixed anything was. On his desk was a replica of the Starship Enterprise NC-1701-A—Captain Kirk’s ship if she knew anything about her
Star Trek
. A framed picture of a dog sat facing the visitor’s seats as well as a plastic grenade that said
complaints department, pick a number.

If Kianna wasn’t so upset, she would have laughed, but she didn’t feel like it. She had tried, but nothing came.
It’s a sad day when a woman can’t smile.

There were no pictures of family or friends.

Figures. The undertaker has no family.

“Ms. Sanderson!” He greeted her with a big smile on his face.

If someone was going to pay her twenty thousand dollars she’d be happy, too.
I swear if one more person in this joint smiles at me again, I won’t be liable for my actions!
Lifting her chin proudly, she used her free hand and accepted his. She shook it once and let his hand go as though he had the plague.

“Please, have a seat.”

With a curt nod, she sat on the edge of her seat. “You said to bury both my parents it would be twenty thousand dollars.” Kianna was rather proud of herself because her voice sounded strong to her ears. There was no shaking, no quivering, but cold and hard.

“That is correct.”

Kianna nodded again. Bowing her head, she pulled the cheque from her chest and stared down at it. In a way, she was slowly saying goodbye. She was saying goodbye to years of working in a fast food joint, working through college and then working a dead-end job at a bookstore after she had graduated. It was farewell to years of going without makeup, girls’ nights, name brand clothes—new clothes for that matter. It was years of living on a strict budget, never deviating and buying crazy things. When the tears threatened to topple down her cheeks, she held out the money

and lifted her head to look at the man in the black suit that sat across from her. “Here,” she spoke weakly.

The man reached out and tried taking the cheque.

Kianna’s fingers were frozen against it. “Ms. Sanderson, you have to let it go.”

“Yeah,” she whispered and her fingers released the piece of paper. As the meeting progressed, Kianna signed all the necessary papers, then stood, shook his hand again. Thanking him, she turned and left the funeral home. She walked by the secretary’s desk without as much as a smile. Shoving out the double doors, Kianna quickly slid on her sunglasses. The tears broke their borders and toppled down he cheeks then. She let them have their way because soon she would be in the privacy of her car.

But they were only silent tears as she climbed into her ten-year-old car and sped off toward her small house near the Rogue. She didn’t turn the radio on or even the air conditioner. She had to get home quickly. Her fingers tightened against the steering wheel until her knuckles were a strange, pale brown colour. Her back wasn’t even touching the back of her seat. Her foot was on the gas and she was going. Getting home then wasn’t in any fashion of following directions, but by automation.

When she finally burst through her front door, she slammed it shut behind her, slid the dead bolt and the chain in place and dropped her purse and keys to the ground. Stumbling into the living room like a zombie, she sat down slowly against the edge of her sofa. Removing her sunglasses, it slipped from her fingers against the floor and she didn’t care.

Doubling over, Kianna buried her face into her hands as her control disappeared. She sobbed. Her body shook violently. She cried not only for herself, because of everything then. She cried for the loss of her mother to the hand of nature. She cried for her father’s utter stupidity in killing himself. But most importantly, she cried because she was alone and her dreams were gone. She had nothing left.

Kianna cried until she was literally out of tears. Her throat burnt, her eyes stung and her ribs hurt from heaving. When that happened, she stopped sobbing, dried her eyes with the back of her hands and stood. Walking up the stairs of her small house, she stripped down, turned on the shower and sat in the tub beneath the downpour of water.

It was four long days later and it seemed as though every last person from her mother’s church and her father’s workplace were at her house. Her friend, Jace, had helped her because

Kianna’s hands were shaking too hard to do much of anything on her own that day. She was dressed in a long black dress with her short hair gelled down neatly. Her stocking clad legs carried her through the room, greeting people, accepting their deepest condolences for the loss of her
dear, dear mother
and her
poor father
.

Some of the people, Kianna knew were there to eat the food because she’d never met them before. Still, she stapled a smile to her face and continued with her head held high. But it was really hard. Someone had just spilled juice on the sofa and before that, she tried to rest her feet only to sit in what looked to be salsa on a chair. They were really starting to irritate the hell out of her. Kianna turned to pick up another tray.

“We’re out of chicken fingers,” Jace MacBride whispered. “I’m gonna run down to the corner store and pick some up.”

“Don’t leave me alone with these people!” Kianna whispered fiercely. “If we’re out of chicken fingers, then we’re out. They’ll just have to eat something else or get the hell out.”

“The store is just around the corner and I’m driving so I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone,” Jace arched a brow.

“I’m serious, Jace. I think I’m about ready to snap and we both know it won’t be pretty.”

“You know you’re overreacting, right?”

Kianna wagged a finger at her best friend and was about to say something when her name was called. Inhaling deeply, she found the smile from somewhere deep, placed it on her face and turned around. It was Mrs. Jackson, the pastor’s wife.

“What time is the funeral?” the woman questioned with the hat that looked ridiculously too big to fit her head.

Kianna wanted to whack her with something. How could you be the pastor’s wife, be the pastor’s secretary and not know when he’s supposed to be presiding over a funeral? Kianna turned to Jace and whispered, “Still think I’m overreacting?” Kianna’s smile did not waver when she turned back to the older woman, “I believe it is at ten in the morning.”

“Ten in the morning? Why that ungodly hour? Do you know what the traffic will be like in this forsaken city? And besides, on Saturdays I am not awake before eleven. Who picked that time?”

Kianna’s smile faltered and she growled, “Look, you lazy—”

“It was the best time the funeral home could come up with,” Jace stepped in.

Kianna’s plastic smile was back the moment Mrs. Jackson looked to Jace, then back to Kianna. Excusing herself, she placed her tray down. If she didn’t get out now, she was going to say something she would regret later. The thought

that those people were her parent’s friends and not hers and she couldn’t care less what they thought flashed through her mind. But in order to save her partial sanity, she turned. She was making a beeline for the stairs to hide herself in her bedroom when the pastor himself stepped into her path. She wasn’t ready to hear one of his infamous lectures about
God’s will be done
and she was sure if he started one, she would haul off and kick his butt to Albuquerque.

“Sister Sanderson,” Pastor Jackson began.

“Is dead. My name is Kianna,” she spoke insolently.

“Very well, Kianna. I am truly sorry for your loss. I know it is hard now because you loved your parents like any good daughter should. But you have to understand that this is God’s will.”

“With all due respect, Pastor, if you believe that my mother’s stroke was God’s will, then alright, I’ll give you that one. But I sure as hell don’t think that it was God’s will that my father took a .45 to his own damn head!” Shoving roughly by him, she heard someone gasp, but didn’t give a flying fig if she had offended anyone.

Climbing the stairs, she locked herself in the bedroom and stared out the window. She was breathing harder than normal—her anger had seeped through her veins, flowed throughout her body and left her panting. Closing her eyes for a

brief moment, she reeled in her temper and leaned heavily against the wall.

The sun dying over Dillon Hall was the most beautiful thing in the early November sun. There were splotches of purples, oranges and yellows in the sky. The cool air flowing through the open window kissed and caressed her skin. She tried to take some comfort in it, but all she could think of was the sight of her father slumped over the steering wheel of his car. Kianna whimpered weakly while shaking her head to clear the images. Had he even stopped to think that this daughter, his only baby, would find him like that? Had he thought of what kind if mental issues she would have after witnessing her father dead like that? Whenever she closed her eyes, she could still see it. In fact, she could see him walking toward the car with the gun in his hands. Then he would climb into the car, close and lock the door, inhale deeply before lifting the gun to his head.

Bang!

She dipped to hide with a gasp. When she realized it was all in her head, Kianna started laughing. Her own mirth sounded alien to her very ears, but she continued laughing. It was one of those instances to her that if she didn’t laugh, she would go insane.

She finally stood again and leaned against the window frame. Staring out desperately, she

inhaled deeply. She needed a salvation, a saving grace and she was praying that she would see it out the window. Instead, she was taken in by the beauty of the old mansion across the way.

The vines attached to the outside of Dillon Hall had leaves of all colours—reds, oranges, yellows and browns. She tilted her head and marvelled at the way such simple things in life could take someone’s mind off the worse things in life. She allowed herself to be taken away, to a world where she was not in pain, a world where she wasn’t conflicted. She could hear the waves of an ocean crashing against rocks and from somewhere in the distance, a foghorn blared. Birds flew overhead, singing their beautiful songs. In this peaceful place that Kianna had managed to pull herself, she was laying beneath the eyes of heaven with the sun kissing her face. In this place, she was untouchable, invincible and loved.

But sadly that peace was not to last as the door opened behind her and Jace called her name. Kianna didn’t turn away from the view before her. “Kianna, the guests are leaving,” Jace whispered. “I thought maybe you would like to

come and thank them for coming?”

“No,” Kianna spoke defiantly. “I am tired of them. Let them all leave.” There was a slight silence and Kianna thought that Jace had left.

Turning around, she saw that Jace was still there, watching her, “What?”

“After they leave, you and I need to sit down and have a little talk.”

Kianna turned back to the window. She watched as one by one, her street cleared of her visitors’ cars. She could only imagine the mess they had left behind for her to clean up later. A frown creased her lips and that frown only got deeper when her door opened again and she heard her bed creak from Jace flopping down on it.

“Alright, so let’s talk,” Jace breathed.

Kianna stood at her window, her place of invincibility and thought about it. She thought of where to begin with what she was wanting, thinking, feeling. But no matter what she thought about or how she thought about it, it didn’t seem like a very appropriate place to start. “Where do I start?”