Free Hidden by Catherine McKenzie Page B

okay. I wasn’t good enough to take it anywhere, so I gave it up.”
    “You could’ve fooled me.”
    “Lots of people can hit it at the flag on the range. It’s bringing it together on the course that matters. Besides, you should see me putt. I suck at putting.”
    “I highly doubt that.”
    She shrugged as she ladled gravy over her meat. “You’ll never know, right?”
    “How’s that?”
    “You live in your Springfield, I live in mine. Never the twain shall meet.”
    “But we’re meeting now.”
    “One-time thing. I have it on good authority these types of shindigs are going to be cut in the next budget.”
    “That’s too bad.”
    We’d reached the end of the line. I searched for something else to say.
    “What department do you work in?” I asked lamely.
    “HR. You?”
    “Accounting.”
    She raised her eyebrows, two dark slashes in an alabaster face. “The two most hated departments in the place. Anyway …”
    “We should be getting back.”
    “We should.”
    “It was nice meeting you … I never got your name.”
    She shook her head. “Nope. Never the twain shall meet, remember?”
    “All right, then. It was nice not meeting you, whoever you are.”
    “It was nice not meeting you too.”

CHAPTER 7
Six Feet Under
    Tuesday morning, and Beth is insisting that I get out of bed, out of the bedroom, out of the house.
    “Out of the house?”
    “Yes. The great outdoors. Have you forgotten about it?”
    “Fuck off.”
    “Finally.”
    “What?”
    “That’s the first emotion I’ve seen you express since I got here. Those pills Dr. Feelgood has you on are too strong. I think some anger is what you need.”
    I tuck my knees under my chin. “What I need is for this all to be some sick joke.”
    “But that’s not going to happen, so what are you going to do about it?”
    “Hiding in here seems about right.”
    “I had another plan in mind.”
    Turns out Beth’s plan involves shopping for a dress to wear for Jeff’s service, and some secret mission she won’t let me in on. And because she’s my older sister, and I’ve been programmed all my life to follow her instructions, I get up, shower, and come downstairs to face the rest of my family in the bright daylight streaming through my kitchen.
    My mother and father are sitting at the breakfast table with Jeff’s parents. Our house seems to have become Grief Command Central, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do about it. Thankfully, the other onlookers or well-wishers or whatever I should be thinking of them as have left, back to their lives, leaving only their Tupperware behind. God knows how many casseroles there are in the freezer.
    The one person missing is Seth, who’s gone to school again. He wouldn’t tell me how it went yesterday when he got back, simply grumbling that it had been “fine.” This seemed like a good sign, a pre–Jeff-is-gone kind of behaviour. But his troubled sleep continued, all thrashes and moans, and I held him like a baby, rocking him until he finally quieted.
    After rising to hug me and tell me how glad they are I’m going out, my parents start bickering over the sections of the newspaper, as they have all my life. I feel a wave of embarrassment at their lack of tact in front of Jeff’s parents, one of those couples who give the impression they’ve never had an argument. But they act oblivious, hug me, and start on the dishes, Mr. Manning washing, Mrs. Manning drying, their grief etched in their faces, their meticulous movements.
    I slump into a chair next to my mother, resting my chin in my hands, and stare out the window at the sunny day. Beth plunks a bowl of cereal in front of me, Seth’s special-occasionFroot Loops. I eat them, my hunger returning after a few bites. Froot Loops are better than I remember.
    “Josie called for you again,” my mom says.
    “Okay.”
    “Are you going to return her call?”
    Josie’s one of our closest friends, but I haven’t been calling anyone