“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Adriana’s voice, loud and clear, broke the nights silence. Birds stirred in their nests, then settled back into slumber. A dog howled, wolf-like, in the distance. Expecting an immediate answer, Adriana looked down at Martin Van Buren.
In a state of shock, Martin was terribly confused. He hadn’t felt a moment of pain, not when the bullet pierced his scalp nor when it shattered his skull, as he assumed had happened. His head didn’t seem to be missing any pieces, nor did he feel warm sticky blood drenching his shirt. Truth be told, he felt quite whole, bewildered but still intact.
“Hey! I’m talking to you! What do you think you’re trying to do here?”
Unable to form a sound, Martin simply sat and stared. Standing before him with his gun in her hand, Adriana looked both beautiful and menacing. Long, unnaturally dark brown hair framed her face with it’s high cheekbones and strong jawline. Her eyes, a lighter brown than her hair, were contradictory, simultaneously exuding soft warmth and penetrating sharpness. In the moonlight her skin appeared pale and luminescent. She wore a form fitting sleeveless black t-shirt that showcased toned, tattooed arms. Dark indigo skinny jeans highlighted various curves from her waist on down. Her pink suede high heel shoes were fabulous but seemed highly unsuitable for hiking through a cemetery.
As Martin stared, Adriana began to tap a foot. Sensing the impatience of the woman holding his gun, he found his voice. “Is this hell? Have I gone to hell for what I’ve done?”
“You haven’t done anything, dumbass,” Adriana responded. “I didn’t let you. No one’s killing themselves on my watch. And no, you’re not in hell. You’re still in the cemetery, disturbing people who are trying to get a little rest.”
Managing to take his eyes off her, Martin looked around and shook his head. “I don’t think you can disturb the dead. What do you mean ‘your watch’? Are you a groundskeeper or something?”
Adriana was indignant. “A groundskeeper? Do I look like a groundskeeper to you?”
“Well, no...I just...”
“You just what, you little...whatever you are. Listen, I came here to get some peace and quiet and clear my head. But what do I get instead? Some guy moaning and groaning like he lost his best friend.” Adriana paused, her expression turning from anger to sympathy. “You didn’t lose your best friend, did you?”
“No.”
She was relieved. “Okay, good.” The anger returned, though lessened now. “So, you came here to kill yourself, did you?”
Martin didn’t answer. Adriana turned her attention from him to the gun. She inspected it carefully, turned it over in her hands, read the manufacturers name on the barrel. With a bemused expression on her face, she looked at Martin.
“You were gonna shoot yourself with this?”
Ashamed, Martin gazed at the ground. “Yes. Yes, I was.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. Not with this thing.”
Confusion again, Martin looked up and asked, “Why not?”
Adriana chuckled, pointed the gun at Martin and pulled the trigger.
Martin winced as he quickly turned his head away. After a moment, realizing that his head hadn’t been blown off, he opened his eyes. He stared, dumbfounded, at the pistol that was only a few feet away from his face. A small blue and yellow flame was flickering from the opening at the end of the barrel.
Adriana laughed as she said, “This is a cigarette lighter, you idiot.”
All the features of Martin’s face began to sag with depression as he contemplated the cruel joke he had played upon himself. “Oh, I can’t believe this,” he said in a hushed tone.
As she took her finger off the trigger, the flame extinguished. Adriana stopped laughing and attempted to look concerned. “What made you think this was a real gun?”
“I just assumed it was. My father always kept it locked up when I was a kid, so I thought it was real. Why the hell would he lock up a cigarette lighter?”
“Maybe he just didn’t want you playing with fire. Did you ever think of that? No offense, but you strike me as being the kind of kid who accidentally burns the house down when all he’s trying to do is use the toaster. You know what I mean? Your pops was just playing it safe, putting this under lock and key.”
Martin knew exactly what she meant. People were always assuming he was a klutz, which he was.
“Yeah, I guess he was just being a good dad.”
Adriana’s expression softened. Oddly, for normally she had no use for a man like Martin, she was warming to him.
Kneeling down, Adriana placed the lighter on the ground near his black bag. She extended a hand and introduced herself. “I’m Adriana Swanson. Who might you be, Mr. Mopey Face?”
Puzzled by everything that was happening, it took a second for him to remember his name. “I’m Martin. Martin Van Buren.” He gave her a limp handshake. Adriana always hated the limp fish handshake, but since her new friend was a suicidal mope she decided to let it go for the time being.
“Martin Van Buren? Weren’t you president once? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“Well, I’m not. I mean, Martin Van Buren the president is dead, but I’m not.”
“No, but you wanted to be, didn’t you?”
He shook his head. “Yeah, yeah I guess I did.”
“You guess you did? Killing yourself is a very final act. I would think you’d want to be totally certain about what you wanted in a case like this.” Sitting cross legged on the ground now, Adriana leaned forward. Sounding like a thoughtful psychiatrist, she asked, “What brought you to this moment? What’s so miserable in your life that you wanted it to end?”
Finding the situation all too odd, he decided to ignore her questions and ask his own. “Hey, you know, I didn’t see anybody in the cemetery when I got here. Where did you come from anyway?”
“I was right over there.” Adriana waved her hand vaguely. “I was having a little lie down, mulling things over. Then you started your caterwauling.”
“I was not caterwauling.”
“Oh yeah you were. Moaning and sighing. You sounded like really unhappy people having bad sex. Except there was only one of you.”
Martin looked away and shrugged, thinking, well, true, I usually am alone when I have sex. He wasn’t done asking questions though. “How did you get the gun away from me? How did you get to me so quickly? I didn’t notice you or hear you or anything.”
Adriana thought it best not to tell him that she was a vampire and vampires can move with the speed of lightning. “I took track in high school.” A lie. The closest she got to the track in high school was making out with her gym teacher underneath the stadium bleachers. She expanded the lie. “Fastest in my class. I won a statewide championship. Got a ribbon or a medal or something.” Even Adriana thought this was a bit much so she decided to turn the focus back on Martin.
“So what’s the problem that makes you want to end it all? Did your woman dump you? Did you steal from the collection plate in church? Did you shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die?”
Despite the absurdity of everything, Martin smiled. “No,” he shook his head. “No, I did not shoot a man in Reno. I think it’s obvious I’m not meant to shoot anybody since I can’t even figure what a real gun looks like.”
“So...what was it?”
Martin paused before he spoke, collecting his thoughts, hoping they would be coherent. “Well, it’s my thirty-ninth birthday, I’m unemployed, I have no money, no skills, I don’t remember the last time I kissed a girl, and I live at home with my mother.”
Adriana contemplated this for a moment. “Hmmm, well, yeah, there’s some things there that need changing, you might need to put a little work in, but still, no reason to be so drastic.”
He looked around him, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, Martin was attentive to his surroundings. He thought that more stars than usual blanketed the sky. They twinkled almost as bright as the moon. The scents of nature at night, trees and grass, flowers in graveside containers, were carried on the warm breeze. They filled Martin’s nostrils, then his lungs. His mood brightened. It was if a massive weight was lifted from his chest so that he could breathe freely again. It felt good to be alive.
Suddenly, thinking about what he had almost done, Martin looked chagrined. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Still, it’s been a lifetime of failure.” He felt the weight return and his chest became heavy again. “I think I’m just tired of trying.”
Adriana leaned in close, taking a deep breath as she did. “You smell more like chocolate now. Warm chocolate.” The onion aroma had evaporated. Martin now smelled sweet and warm and delicious.
Not knowing how to reply to that, he simply looked at her.
She shook her head attempting to banish the thought of having a mortal snack. Her face was close to Martin’s now. She gazed into his eyes and he instantly felt an incredible attraction to her. Her lips parted slightly to reveal teeth whiter and sharper than those of a normal human. To Adriana, Martin was soft and doughy looking. Even if he resisted, which she didn’t think he would, he could be taken easily.
As alluring as his doughy sweetness was, Adriana knew it would be wrong to transform him into a vampire. Not only did she want to stick to a non-human diet, she didn’t think Martin was exactly immortal vampire material. Not sucking his blood was the right choice, the humane choice.
Adriana felt her willpower returning. She drew herself away from Martin, then leaned back, resting her hands on the ground behind her. Thinking of his physical weakness and her never ceasing love of chocolate, she realized how close she had come to breaking her vow of not hunting humans. Martin would not have been worth it. Laughing, she said, “I’m stronger than that.”
Martin stared. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Hey!” Adriana said sharply. “I was talking to myself. Private discussion.”
“Uhmmm...sorry?”
“Yeah, whatever. Listen, you say you’re tired of trying and failing. How hard have you really tried?”
“Well...”
“That’s what I thought. Not very hard. You must have some skills. No one gets through life without acquiring some knowledge that can be put to good use.”
Martin thought about it for a second, then said, “No, I’ve got nothing really.”
“You’ve had jobs, haven’t you?” She wanted to pry some information out of him in order to help him. “Which ones have you liked? What were you good at?”
“Yeah, I’ve had jobs. I can honestly say I didn’t like any of them, and I wasn’t particularly good at any of them, either.”
Feeling slightly exasperated with him, Adriana decided to take a different tack. “What do you like? You must like something.”
“I enjoy reading. And eating. And sleeping. I love to sleep. Television can be good sometimes too.”
“I see. Maybe we could find you a job researching the sleep patterns of overeating underachievers.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot.”
Adriana moved on. “What about your parents? Wouldn’t they miss you?”
“My father’s been passed away for a long time now, and well, I guess my mom would miss me, but she’s a strong person. She’d be just fine without me.”
“A strong person? She may be strong, but it’s hard to get over a child’s death, even if the child is a mopey adult. I mean, her husband’s gone and now her son wants to take a dirt nap too. That’s a lot to expect her to bear.” Adriana was on a roll now. “Poor little old lady, probably sitting at home right now, in a rocking chair with a shawl covering her lap, wondering where her little boy is, why he’s out so late. She’s probably crying out, ‘When is my boy coming home? He’s out there alone in the dark, my poor helpless baby.’ Is that what you want?” She was leaning forward again, staring intensely at Martin. “Is that the way you want to leave your poor mother, crying in the night for her geeky son to come home safe?”
Martin was beginning to feel a little agitated. “For one thing, my mother does not own a shawl, nor does she sit in a rocking chair. I have a rocking chair in my room because I love them, they’re very relaxing, but she hates them. Says they’re for old people.”
“She’s right.”
“No, rocking chairs are for people of all ages. Whatever! Listen, when I left the house earlier she hadn’t even gotten home from her girls night out. She’s still young, just turned sixty, and very active. She runs and swims and hikes and bikes and runs her own business.” Martin paused. “And I think she’s having a,” he paused again, “relationship with my best friend.”
Adriana’s ears perked up and she smiled wickedly. “Oh, really? Momma likes the young stuff, huh?”
“Hey!”
“Sorry.” Adriana thought it best to change the subject. “So what kind of business does your mother own?”
“She runs the bookstore in town. Maria’s Books and More. It’s a great store. Mom wanted me to take over, but I’m not really good at running things.”
“All I hear from you is how bad you are at things. No wonder you’re depressed. You believe the things you say about yourself. I’ll bet you’re good at plenty of stuff. Anyway, it’s not easy running a bookstore these days. Not much money in it. She could probably use your help.”
“Maybe. I’d probably run it into the ground. Besides, James is there to take over the place when and if mom retires. He’s the best friend I told you about.”
“The one that’s bangin’ your mother?”
Martin’s eyes narrowed and he spoke in a low tone that indicated he was pissed. “Could you please not talk about my mother that way?”
“Okay, sorry. I’ll keep it clean. Here’s the thing though. I don’t want to hear any more about how you suck at everything and how you would run your mother’s business into the ground if you took over. That is stinkin’ thinkin’ and there will be no more of that. Do you understand me? It’s bad for your health.”
He looked sheepish. “You’re right. I should try to change my outlook on life. Especially since it appears that I’m going to keep on living.”
Adriana smiled. “Good. Glad to hear that. You should probably go home and get some sleep now. Did you say today is your birthday?”
“Yep.”
“You doing anything to celebrate?”
Martin looked slightly annoyed. “I don’t really like celebrating my birthday. Never have. There’s a photo my mom has at home of us having a little birthday get together when I was like two years old or something. My dad is there, and some relatives. Mom must have been behind the camera. Anyway, in the photo, I’m standing on a chair next to the table, and I’m looking really forlornly at the birthday cake. I look really depressed, like I’ve got the weight of the world on my shoulders.”
With a smirk, Adriana said, “Hmmm, that doesn’t sound like you at all.”
Martin grinned. “Ha ha. Whatever. My point is, I’ve never liked birthdays all that much. Still, every year my mother has a cake for me. She bakes it herself and in the afternoon we have it at the bookstore, at the cafe in the back.”
“What time is cake served, may I ask?”
“About five. The cafe doesn’t get crowded until later, when the afternoon rush hits.”
“Cool. I’ll be there.” She leaned in close again. Martin looked at her with apprehension. “You will?”
“Yeah. I’ll even bring you a little something.”
Martin grew nervous with Adriana so close to him, looking him directly in the eyes as she spoke. “You don’t need to bring me anything. I mean, we really just met.”
“I know. I want to though. I already have something in mind for you.”
He thought Adriana was behaving strangely, getting closer to him, breathing in deeply and glancing down at his lap.
“Can I ask you one more question, Martin?” Her eyes kept darting down to his lap while she ran her tongue over her teeth.
“Okay,” he said timidly.
“Are those chocolate crumbs on your pants?”
“Uhmm, yes.”
“So you ate a chocolate something while you were here at the cemetery?”
For some reason, Martin became fearful and he started sweating. “Uh, yeah. I did.”
“You brought a snack to your suicide?”
“Yeah,” he answered in a weak voice. “I get hungry.”
“That’s so cute. Weird, but cute.” Quickly, she kissed him on the cheek. In a flash, she was standing and saying goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Martin.”
He watched as Adriana almost flew away from him, effortlessly moving with great alacrity, her high heels barely touching the ground. Leaning back against the grave marker, Martin wondered aloud, “What the hell just happened?”
In a state of shock, Martin was terribly confused. He hadn’t felt a moment of pain, not when the bullet pierced his scalp nor when it shattered his skull, as he assumed had happened. His head didn’t seem to be missing any pieces, nor did he feel warm sticky blood drenching his shirt. Truth be told, he felt quite whole, bewildered but still intact.
“Hey! I’m talking to you! What do you think you’re trying to do here?”
Unable to form a sound, Martin simply sat and stared. Standing before him with his gun in her hand, Adriana looked both beautiful and menacing. Long, unnaturally dark brown hair framed her face with it’s high cheekbones and strong jawline. Her eyes, a lighter brown than her hair, were contradictory, simultaneously exuding soft warmth and penetrating sharpness. In the moonlight her skin appeared pale and luminescent. She wore a form fitting sleeveless black t-shirt that showcased toned, tattooed arms. Dark indigo skinny jeans highlighted various curves from her waist on down. Her pink suede high heel shoes were fabulous but seemed highly unsuitable for hiking through a cemetery.
As Martin stared, Adriana began to tap a foot. Sensing the impatience of the woman holding his gun, he found his voice. “Is this hell? Have I gone to hell for what I’ve done?”
“You haven’t done anything, dumbass,” Adriana responded. “I didn’t let you. No one’s killing themselves on my watch. And no, you’re not in hell. You’re still in the cemetery, disturbing people who are trying to get a little rest.”
Managing to take his eyes off her, Martin looked around and shook his head. “I don’t think you can disturb the dead. What do you mean ‘your watch’? Are you a groundskeeper or something?”
Adriana was indignant. “A groundskeeper? Do I look like a groundskeeper to you?”
“Well, no...I just...”
“You just what, you little...whatever you are. Listen, I came here to get some peace and quiet and clear my head. But what do I get instead? Some guy moaning and groaning like he lost his best friend.” Adriana paused, her expression turning from anger to sympathy. “You didn’t lose your best friend, did you?”
“No.”
She was relieved. “Okay, good.” The anger returned, though lessened now. “So, you came here to kill yourself, did you?”
Martin didn’t answer. Adriana turned her attention from him to the gun. She inspected it carefully, turned it over in her hands, read the manufacturers name on the barrel. With a bemused expression on her face, she looked at Martin.
“You were gonna shoot yourself with this?”
Ashamed, Martin gazed at the ground. “Yes. Yes, I was.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so. Not with this thing.”
Confusion again, Martin looked up and asked, “Why not?”
Adriana chuckled, pointed the gun at Martin and pulled the trigger.
Martin winced as he quickly turned his head away. After a moment, realizing that his head hadn’t been blown off, he opened his eyes. He stared, dumbfounded, at the pistol that was only a few feet away from his face. A small blue and yellow flame was flickering from the opening at the end of the barrel.
Adriana laughed as she said, “This is a cigarette lighter, you idiot.”
All the features of Martin’s face began to sag with depression as he contemplated the cruel joke he had played upon himself. “Oh, I can’t believe this,” he said in a hushed tone.
As she took her finger off the trigger, the flame extinguished. Adriana stopped laughing and attempted to look concerned. “What made you think this was a real gun?”
“I just assumed it was. My father always kept it locked up when I was a kid, so I thought it was real. Why the hell would he lock up a cigarette lighter?”
“Maybe he just didn’t want you playing with fire. Did you ever think of that? No offense, but you strike me as being the kind of kid who accidentally burns the house down when all he’s trying to do is use the toaster. You know what I mean? Your pops was just playing it safe, putting this under lock and key.”
Martin knew exactly what she meant. People were always assuming he was a klutz, which he was.
“Yeah, I guess he was just being a good dad.”
Adriana’s expression softened. Oddly, for normally she had no use for a man like Martin, she was warming to him.
Kneeling down, Adriana placed the lighter on the ground near his black bag. She extended a hand and introduced herself. “I’m Adriana Swanson. Who might you be, Mr. Mopey Face?”
Puzzled by everything that was happening, it took a second for him to remember his name. “I’m Martin. Martin Van Buren.” He gave her a limp handshake. Adriana always hated the limp fish handshake, but since her new friend was a suicidal mope she decided to let it go for the time being.
“Martin Van Buren? Weren’t you president once? Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”
“Well, I’m not. I mean, Martin Van Buren the president is dead, but I’m not.”
“No, but you wanted to be, didn’t you?”
He shook his head. “Yeah, yeah I guess I did.”
“You guess you did? Killing yourself is a very final act. I would think you’d want to be totally certain about what you wanted in a case like this.” Sitting cross legged on the ground now, Adriana leaned forward. Sounding like a thoughtful psychiatrist, she asked, “What brought you to this moment? What’s so miserable in your life that you wanted it to end?”
Finding the situation all too odd, he decided to ignore her questions and ask his own. “Hey, you know, I didn’t see anybody in the cemetery when I got here. Where did you come from anyway?”
“I was right over there.” Adriana waved her hand vaguely. “I was having a little lie down, mulling things over. Then you started your caterwauling.”
“I was not caterwauling.”
“Oh yeah you were. Moaning and sighing. You sounded like really unhappy people having bad sex. Except there was only one of you.”
Martin looked away and shrugged, thinking, well, true, I usually am alone when I have sex. He wasn’t done asking questions though. “How did you get the gun away from me? How did you get to me so quickly? I didn’t notice you or hear you or anything.”
Adriana thought it best not to tell him that she was a vampire and vampires can move with the speed of lightning. “I took track in high school.” A lie. The closest she got to the track in high school was making out with her gym teacher underneath the stadium bleachers. She expanded the lie. “Fastest in my class. I won a statewide championship. Got a ribbon or a medal or something.” Even Adriana thought this was a bit much so she decided to turn the focus back on Martin.
“So what’s the problem that makes you want to end it all? Did your woman dump you? Did you steal from the collection plate in church? Did you shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die?”
Despite the absurdity of everything, Martin smiled. “No,” he shook his head. “No, I did not shoot a man in Reno. I think it’s obvious I’m not meant to shoot anybody since I can’t even figure what a real gun looks like.”
“So...what was it?”
Martin paused before he spoke, collecting his thoughts, hoping they would be coherent. “Well, it’s my thirty-ninth birthday, I’m unemployed, I have no money, no skills, I don’t remember the last time I kissed a girl, and I live at home with my mother.”
Adriana contemplated this for a moment. “Hmmm, well, yeah, there’s some things there that need changing, you might need to put a little work in, but still, no reason to be so drastic.”
He looked around him, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, Martin was attentive to his surroundings. He thought that more stars than usual blanketed the sky. They twinkled almost as bright as the moon. The scents of nature at night, trees and grass, flowers in graveside containers, were carried on the warm breeze. They filled Martin’s nostrils, then his lungs. His mood brightened. It was if a massive weight was lifted from his chest so that he could breathe freely again. It felt good to be alive.
Suddenly, thinking about what he had almost done, Martin looked chagrined. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Still, it’s been a lifetime of failure.” He felt the weight return and his chest became heavy again. “I think I’m just tired of trying.”
Adriana leaned in close, taking a deep breath as she did. “You smell more like chocolate now. Warm chocolate.” The onion aroma had evaporated. Martin now smelled sweet and warm and delicious.
Not knowing how to reply to that, he simply looked at her.
She shook her head attempting to banish the thought of having a mortal snack. Her face was close to Martin’s now. She gazed into his eyes and he instantly felt an incredible attraction to her. Her lips parted slightly to reveal teeth whiter and sharper than those of a normal human. To Adriana, Martin was soft and doughy looking. Even if he resisted, which she didn’t think he would, he could be taken easily.
As alluring as his doughy sweetness was, Adriana knew it would be wrong to transform him into a vampire. Not only did she want to stick to a non-human diet, she didn’t think Martin was exactly immortal vampire material. Not sucking his blood was the right choice, the humane choice.
Adriana felt her willpower returning. She drew herself away from Martin, then leaned back, resting her hands on the ground behind her. Thinking of his physical weakness and her never ceasing love of chocolate, she realized how close she had come to breaking her vow of not hunting humans. Martin would not have been worth it. Laughing, she said, “I’m stronger than that.”
Martin stared. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Hey!” Adriana said sharply. “I was talking to myself. Private discussion.”
“Uhmmm...sorry?”
“Yeah, whatever. Listen, you say you’re tired of trying and failing. How hard have you really tried?”
“Well...”
“That’s what I thought. Not very hard. You must have some skills. No one gets through life without acquiring some knowledge that can be put to good use.”
Martin thought about it for a second, then said, “No, I’ve got nothing really.”
“You’ve had jobs, haven’t you?” She wanted to pry some information out of him in order to help him. “Which ones have you liked? What were you good at?”
“Yeah, I’ve had jobs. I can honestly say I didn’t like any of them, and I wasn’t particularly good at any of them, either.”
Feeling slightly exasperated with him, Adriana decided to take a different tack. “What do you like? You must like something.”
“I enjoy reading. And eating. And sleeping. I love to sleep. Television can be good sometimes too.”
“I see. Maybe we could find you a job researching the sleep patterns of overeating underachievers.”
“Yeah, thanks a lot.”
Adriana moved on. “What about your parents? Wouldn’t they miss you?”
“My father’s been passed away for a long time now, and well, I guess my mom would miss me, but she’s a strong person. She’d be just fine without me.”
“A strong person? She may be strong, but it’s hard to get over a child’s death, even if the child is a mopey adult. I mean, her husband’s gone and now her son wants to take a dirt nap too. That’s a lot to expect her to bear.” Adriana was on a roll now. “Poor little old lady, probably sitting at home right now, in a rocking chair with a shawl covering her lap, wondering where her little boy is, why he’s out so late. She’s probably crying out, ‘When is my boy coming home? He’s out there alone in the dark, my poor helpless baby.’ Is that what you want?” She was leaning forward again, staring intensely at Martin. “Is that the way you want to leave your poor mother, crying in the night for her geeky son to come home safe?”
Martin was beginning to feel a little agitated. “For one thing, my mother does not own a shawl, nor does she sit in a rocking chair. I have a rocking chair in my room because I love them, they’re very relaxing, but she hates them. Says they’re for old people.”
“She’s right.”
“No, rocking chairs are for people of all ages. Whatever! Listen, when I left the house earlier she hadn’t even gotten home from her girls night out. She’s still young, just turned sixty, and very active. She runs and swims and hikes and bikes and runs her own business.” Martin paused. “And I think she’s having a,” he paused again, “relationship with my best friend.”
Adriana’s ears perked up and she smiled wickedly. “Oh, really? Momma likes the young stuff, huh?”
“Hey!”
“Sorry.” Adriana thought it best to change the subject. “So what kind of business does your mother own?”
“She runs the bookstore in town. Maria’s Books and More. It’s a great store. Mom wanted me to take over, but I’m not really good at running things.”
“All I hear from you is how bad you are at things. No wonder you’re depressed. You believe the things you say about yourself. I’ll bet you’re good at plenty of stuff. Anyway, it’s not easy running a bookstore these days. Not much money in it. She could probably use your help.”
“Maybe. I’d probably run it into the ground. Besides, James is there to take over the place when and if mom retires. He’s the best friend I told you about.”
“The one that’s bangin’ your mother?”
Martin’s eyes narrowed and he spoke in a low tone that indicated he was pissed. “Could you please not talk about my mother that way?”
“Okay, sorry. I’ll keep it clean. Here’s the thing though. I don’t want to hear any more about how you suck at everything and how you would run your mother’s business into the ground if you took over. That is stinkin’ thinkin’ and there will be no more of that. Do you understand me? It’s bad for your health.”
He looked sheepish. “You’re right. I should try to change my outlook on life. Especially since it appears that I’m going to keep on living.”
Adriana smiled. “Good. Glad to hear that. You should probably go home and get some sleep now. Did you say today is your birthday?”
“Yep.”
“You doing anything to celebrate?”
Martin looked slightly annoyed. “I don’t really like celebrating my birthday. Never have. There’s a photo my mom has at home of us having a little birthday get together when I was like two years old or something. My dad is there, and some relatives. Mom must have been behind the camera. Anyway, in the photo, I’m standing on a chair next to the table, and I’m looking really forlornly at the birthday cake. I look really depressed, like I’ve got the weight of the world on my shoulders.”
With a smirk, Adriana said, “Hmmm, that doesn’t sound like you at all.”
Martin grinned. “Ha ha. Whatever. My point is, I’ve never liked birthdays all that much. Still, every year my mother has a cake for me. She bakes it herself and in the afternoon we have it at the bookstore, at the cafe in the back.”
“What time is cake served, may I ask?”
“About five. The cafe doesn’t get crowded until later, when the afternoon rush hits.”
“Cool. I’ll be there.” She leaned in close again. Martin looked at her with apprehension. “You will?”
“Yeah. I’ll even bring you a little something.”
Martin grew nervous with Adriana so close to him, looking him directly in the eyes as she spoke. “You don’t need to bring me anything. I mean, we really just met.”
“I know. I want to though. I already have something in mind for you.”
He thought Adriana was behaving strangely, getting closer to him, breathing in deeply and glancing down at his lap.
“Can I ask you one more question, Martin?” Her eyes kept darting down to his lap while she ran her tongue over her teeth.
“Okay,” he said timidly.
“Are those chocolate crumbs on your pants?”
“Uhmm, yes.”
“So you ate a chocolate something while you were here at the cemetery?”
For some reason, Martin became fearful and he started sweating. “Uh, yeah. I did.”
“You brought a snack to your suicide?”
“Yeah,” he answered in a weak voice. “I get hungry.”
“That’s so cute. Weird, but cute.” Quickly, she kissed him on the cheek. In a flash, she was standing and saying goodbye. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Martin.”
He watched as Adriana almost flew away from him, effortlessly moving with great alacrity, her high heels barely touching the ground. Leaning back against the grave marker, Martin wondered aloud, “What the hell just happened?”
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