Free Reaper by Katrina Monroe Page B

he’d
left off only to live out the bad parts.
    He arrived at the church as the procession of
mourners was leaving the building and making their way in a line to
the cemetery. Heading the line were four pallbearers, Oz recognized
the first as Mark’s brother, Ryan. Good guy. Terrible basketball
player. Mark’s casket was a light, glossy pine with silver handles.
A bouquet of yellow lilies sat atop it, shivering with each of the
pallbearers’ unsteady steps. He spotted Jamie a few feet from the
casket, hugging a book tightly to his chest. He walked with his
eyes cast down, and in perfect time with the man directly in front
of him. Oz couldn’t see his face, but Jamie’s slumped shoulders and
heavy steps spoke volumes. No matter what he thought about his
father, Jamie was devastated.
    The procession curled around a freshly dug
grave with a weeping angel at its head. Oz hid behind a tree that
branched high and wide. No one else would notice his presence, but
Jamie would. He didn’t want to hurt the boy by being there, so he
kept Jamie’s back to him. Jamie wore a dark blue suit that was at
least a size too large. He shrank inside it like it was a turtle
shell.
    A young priest cleared his throat. The women
covered their mouths in an attempt to silence their tears.
    Jen’s hair was shorter than he’d remembered,
but otherwise she looked the same. Deep brown eyes. Tall.
Beautiful. Oz groaned thinking of the last time he saw her—snoring
in a tangle of bed sheets. Oz didn’t owe Mark once. He owed him
twice.
    Jen held tightly to Jamie’s shoulders. It was
impossible to tell who was supporting whom. Jamie covered his mouth
against a body-wracking cough. Jen passed him his inhaler. The
cough continued in spite of it.
    “Dearly beloved...” the priest began. He kept
his eyes fixed the pages in his bible. Oz wondered if this was his
first funeral. Oz smiled in spite of himself because it was his,
too. He thought words of encouragement for the priest.
    “... we are gathered here today to mourn the
loss of our brother, Your son, Mark Greene.”
    Oz sank against the tree, bark digging
between his shoulder blades. The pain felt like a penance. He
gathered his knees into his arms and stopped listening.
    Soon, the sound of leaves crunching startled
him. Oz knew who it was without looking, but he wouldn’t be the one
to break the silence. What could he even say? ‘I’m sorry’ was
cheap.
    “I saw you,” Jamie said.
    Oz’s eyes burned. “Hi, Jamie.”
    They were quiet, keeping to their opposite
sides of the tree.
    “You could’ve told me,” Jamie said.
    “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. He was my
friend.”
    “He was my dad.”
    Oz turned to face him but Jamie had already
begun walking back to his mother.
    “Who were you talking to?” Jen said.
    “No one,” Jamie said.
    No one.
     

 
    Chapter
Nine
     
    Oz couldn’t blame Jamie. He’d be pissed at
him, too. Jamie wasn’t satisfied with an apology and, frankly, it
didn’t satisfy Oz, either. Truth or not, it was pitiful, and he
knew it. It would always be pitiful. Mark had been alive, which
meant Oz hadn’t been gone that long. Who else had he known in life
that was still alive? His parents? Friends? How many people would
he have to watch die? How many times would he have to watch a kid
like Jamie suffer through this heart-break?
    Oz looked back in time to see Jen toss a
hand-full of dirt into the hole. She led Jamie by the shoulders to
the parking lot. He waited until he was sure they weren’t coming
back before making his way, hesitantly, to the open grave.
    Cursed with a vivid imagination, when Oz
looked down into the hole, he saw Mark through the lid of the
casket. He imagined his face slack and pale and his hair combed
perfectly to the side, which he would’ve hated. His black suit free
of wrinkles and lint, and smelling of starch and formaldehyde. His
arms folded across his chest in the traditional pose.
    Oz squatted next to the grave and ran