Song for the Dead (Ada Palomino 2)

Oh. I fucking hate this David.

Think I hate Rose too.

I watch Max, expecting to see him crumble.

But he remains stoic, standing up straight, staring at her steadily. His face impassive.

“You know, we had been apart for so long and…”

“Rose,” Max says hoarsely. He clears his throat. “It’s fine. I expected it. When I saw you got engaged, I knew it was to him. Would have happened whether I was alive or dead.”

“That’s an awful way of putting it.”

“But it’s true,” he says. “I’m happy for you. Really.”

I can’t tell if that’s true or not.

“You came all the way here,” Rose says quietly. “Just to see me?”

“Just to say goodbye in person,” he says.

“Goodbye?” she asks.

“Goodbye?” I repeat.

He doesn’t look at me. He gives Rose a faint smile. “I didn’t want to do all of this on Facebook. Figured a road trip was in order.”

I try to help him out. “We came here because he needs his stuff.”

She looks at me. “His stuff?”

“Yes. His stuff. Like his passport and his birth certificate and all the other stuff he left at your house.”

Rose gives me a strange look, brings her attention back to Max, who is staring at a blank spot in front of him. “What stuff? Max, you moved out, like, six months before you went to New York. You know that.”

What the fuck? We came all the way here for that shit and it was never here to begin with? Why the fuck are we here then?

I’m staring at Max, incredulous, but he’s not meeting my eyes.

Rose turns to face me. “Ada, do mind giving me and Max a little privacy?”

I look to Max for the cue, not wanting to leave him.

He gives me a small smile, nods. “I’ll see you out there, Ada.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, going for the door.

I pull it open just as Rose calls after me, “Thank you for watching out for him.”

Something inside my chest churns and churns, a sickly feeling.

“Of course.”

I step out into the bar. Get two feet and then the door is shut behind me. I stop, watching it for a moment, wondering how far away I should go. I don’t know if I trust Rose with Max’s heart and psyche, but I don’t think she’s inherently harmful.

That said, as much as I know Max can handle himself, there’s something about tonight that makes me want to be there for him. Not just emotionally, but physically, as if he might fade away in plain sight.

I sigh, feeling jittery, and make my way to the bar, keeping my eye on the door to the office.

The bartender asks me what I want to drink, and I get an old-fashioned just because I need something strong and I like the special cherries they come with. And just like the other place, this bartender doesn’t ID me either. Maybe I’ve aged up these last few weeks.

He slides me the drink and I get one strong sip out of it before the hair on my arms start to raise, the energy in my gut going haywire, and someone sits in the seat next to me.

I don’t even have to turn my head to know who it is.

“Nice performance,” I say, stabbing my plastic sword into the orange peel, wishing it was a real sword so I could lob off her head and be done with it.

“I could say the same to you,” comes the raspy metallic voice.

I finally look over at her. She’s still wearing the white dress, the bleeding rose in her hair, blood dripping into the martini she’s holding. I watch as the blood dances around and she raises it to her lips, smiling slyly at me.

“What do you mean by that?” I ask, trying to sound strong, but honestly, looking at this woman makes me feel like my sanity is a single thread closer to unraveling.

“Playing the part,” she says, a smear of blood on her lips, which she delicately wipes off. “The savior. But you know now you can’t save him, right? You saw him. You saw what’s inside him. You know that there’s nothing there.”

I shake my head, my throat feeling choked. “That’s not true. There was something there. I saw myself.”

“You saw what you wanted to see. That will be your downfall. You should think about saving yourself instead of saving him.”

“Why should I listen to a single fucking thing you’ve said?”

She lets out a small laugh, the sound making me sick.

“You don’t have to listen to me. As I said before, I’m not interested in you. I want him. He needs to come back home. He knows it. He’s preparing for it. Just know that when you leave this city, you’re leaving it alone.”

Her words strike me like a hammer to the gut, my fingers gripping my drink so hard I’m afraid it might shatter the glass.