When Tanner’s brother breaks down at the podium while telling a story about their childhood, Wes squeezes her hand. She squeezes back tighter. Ivy isn’t sure if she is holding him up or he’s holding her.
Until the other night, she had no intention of being here. She doesn’t want to be. Not for Tanner Duncan, a man who hated her and was killed while assaulting a woman.
But then Wes asked.
They had been in bed—his bed—a place they’ve been spending a lot of time this week, like the only way he can work through his grief is with sex. Afterward, he would lie awake for a long time, ignoring his phone, not turning on the TV, and staring at the ceiling, the wall, the window. Anywhere but at her.
She had been patient, staggeringly so, until he mentioned the funeral.
“You’re coming, aren’t you?” he said.
She thought for a second, deciding to hedge. Telling him she didn’t want to go to Tanner’s funeral probably wasn’t the best idea. “I wasn’t planning on it, no.”
It was too dark to see the expression on his face or in his eyes. Wes was quiet for so long she almost fell asleep.
“He was the one who hired me,” Wes finally said. “And trained me. Without Tanner . . .” He paused. Ivy listened to him breathe as she waited. “I don’t know if I would’ve done as well at Siphon.”
Tanner may not have been 100 percent evil; she understood that. Just evil enough to get himself killed.
“And the assistant?” she said. “What about her?”
“I always liked Bianca. She did a great job. I feel terrible for her.”
“Did you have any idea?” she said.
“No,” he said. “This whole situation is so screwed up.”
No argument there.
Wes and Ivy have had countless conversations in bed, in the dark. Their own private confessional. In the early days, they talked about childhood traumas, told stories about their families, their triumphs and failures. Relationships, too. People they had loved, or thought they did, going all the way back to middle school.
Later, the talks revolved only around them. Who did what wrong, and, more importantly, why. Who’s sorry, and who claims to be but really isn’t. They have broken up in the dark and gotten back together, sometimes within the same night. They have talked about their mutual love and their mutual hate, sometimes in the same sentence.
On a few occasions, they’ve even talked about how lucky they are. Unlike Ivy’s parents.
They’re in separate prisons and aren’t allowed to be in contact. At all. They tried sending letters to Ivy to remail, but even those were opened and stopped by the prison. Calling wasn’t an option, either. The prisons have to approve the people they can call, and her parents aren’t on each other’s list, because they committed their crimes together.
Ivy can’t imagine not being in contact with Wes.
The topic of her parents comes up on their most serious nights, when the conversation becomes too dark to continue. They stop just short of talking about their worst night.
If there’s been one good thing about Tanner, it’s that Wes has stopped mentioning the club, the dress, and that awful dinner date. Everything they argued about days ago has disappeared.
“Ivy?” Wes had said.
“Yeah?”
“I’d really like you to go to the funeral,” he said. “For me.”
It felt like a test.
Still does, even as she stands by his side, holding his hand and listening to wonderful stories about Tanner. They all sound like lies.
This morning, she almost called Heath. Her best friend has been out of town for almost two months, which normally wouldn’t be a problem. Heath is an architect who specializes in environmentally friendly houses, and he’s been putting together a community of tiny homes up in the wilds of Oregon. It wouldn’t be so bad if the community wasn’t off the grid.
She has gotten through on his phone a couple of times, but her texts go unanswered more than half the time. He doesn’t even know she is back together with Wes. And right now, he’s probably the only one she would tell.
She tried to get hold of him before the funeral. Called and texted, neither one successful.
At the last possible moment, she left the office, went home to put on the black dress, and showed up at the funeral. It felt like she was doing something bad and something good at the same time. One minute, she thinks she’s done the right thing; the next, she hates herself.
The service isn’t long, thank God, like his family knew they shouldn’t say too much. Wes, ever the polite Midwestern boy, waits around afterward to offer his condolences to Tanner’s family.
“I’m so sorry,” he says. “I worked with Tanner for years. He taught me so much.”
Mom cries, Dad puts his arm around her, and Tanner’s brother shakes Wes’s hand. Everyone is too polite to mention how and why this happened. Only the brother concedes this has all been “such a tragedy.”
Ivy says nothing, only nods, because the air in the funeral home, along with dead Tanner, is starting to make her feel sick. She pulls Wes toward the door before he can start another conversation with his coworkers.
Outside, she can breathe. For a second.
Across the street, Karen stands in front of her nondescript car, looking right at them. Ivy drops Wes’s hand.
Today, Karen is wearing a dark suit, and her short hair is slicked back. Her lipstick is the color of terra-cotta, something Ivy notices only because of the expression on Karen’s face.
She is smiling.
Karen walks toward them, her face morphing into something more appropriate for a funeral.
“Hello,” she says. “I’d say ‘Good afternoon,’ but that seems inappropriate.”
Wes nods. “Hello.”
“You two look like you’re getting along these days,” Karen says.
Nobody responds to this, certainly not Ivy. “Is this your case?” she asks.
“I’ve been assisting on it. Sometimes, you need just the right detective for a case.”
Silence.
“Wes.” Karen turns to him, looking quite serious in a fake kind of way. “Thank you again for taking the time to talk with me on Friday. I appreciate it, given all that’s been happening.”
Ivy remains calm, but inside she is screaming.
Friday.
Wes never mentioned it to her. They spent the whole weekend together and he never said a word.
27
Karen walks away from Ivy and Wes, forcing herself not to look back at them. But she wishes she could watch what happens next.
Ivy didn’t know about the second interview. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but Karen saw it. A slight widening of her eyes, a side glance at Wes.
Karen had stopped by Siphon last Friday to talk with him. In just a few days, the company had completely overhauled the front room of the sales department. New carpet, new front desk, new chair, and new assistant. Or a temporary one. Tanner’s name had even been removed from his office door. No way to tell someone had been stabbed within the company’s pristine walls.
When Karen identified herself and asked to speak with Wes Harmon, she was ushered right into his office. He looked surprised to see her.
“I spoke to another detective about Tanner a couple days ago,” he said. “Detective Knox, I believe.”