Dead Politician Society

Chapter 43: Laura

Laura thrashed and twisted until her sheets were a mess at the end of her bed. She looked at the clock. 4:15.

She had to drive her daughter to the airport in four hours. She could keep trying to sleep, but what was the point of lying there?

The funeral had been fine. Big. Well-attended by Hayden’s friends and colleagues. The service had been what you’d expect—not too religious, but dull.

Her son had been courteous. Kissed her hello and goodbye, asked politely about her volunteer work, didn’t mention Susannah at all. Laura would give anything for a fight with him, any real conversation that gave her a real indication of how he was doing and who he was as a human. But he was his father’s son. The right answer was better than the real answer. Now he was back in New York, where he claimed he was happy.

Her daughter had been polite, too, which for some reason hurt Laura more. She loosened up a little with the wine—they’d had their best connection in the kitchen between eleven and midnight, when her daughter confided about her relationship troubles and even joked that she could see why Laura had become a lesbian. But she’d begged off opening a second bottle when Laura suggested it. Said she needed to be alert in the morning.

In normal circumstances, all of this might keep her tossing and turning for a few hours. But what made sleep impossible: Susannah hadn’t come home since she’d left for school that morning.

Between midnight and now, Laura had flip-flopped wildly between guilt for suspecting her and fear that her girlfriend was a murderer.

She slid her cold feet into her Burberry slippers and padded downstairs. She made coffee—instant, so the grinder wouldn’t wake her daughter in the guest room.

She turned the TV on low and found the news channel. There was something comforting about wars raging in faraway places. A suicide bomber blows up a schoolhouse in Israel and Annie the Anchorwoman still has perfect hair and makeup along with helpful answers to the difficult questions that must be forming in viewers’ minds.

No local politicians seemed to have died so far that night. And here was the front door opening now.

Susannah crashed into the hallway and stumbled into the staircase.

“Are you drunk?” Laura had seen Susannah tipsy two or three times, stoned once, and drunk exactly never.

“Yup.” Susannah sat on the stairs and faced her. “Drank the local out of Jim Beam. That’s when I switched to CC.”

Laura winced in sympathy. There would be pain when this wore off. “The bars close at two,” she said. “Where have you been the past two hours?”

“Walking. I’m probably going to break up with you.”

“Let’s get you to bed first. You can break up with me in the morning.”

“It’s already morning.”

“I’ll get some ibuprofen.”

“On second thought, I think I’ll break up with you now. Thanks for the offer, but I’ll get my own ibuprofen. I’m not sure I can trust you not to poison me.”

Laura shook her head. The urge to laugh fought with the urge to cry.

“And I’ll sleep in the spare room tonight. So don’t think you can convince me to stay with your cunning cunnilingus.”

Sex was the farthest thing from Laura’s mind. She’d never understood how some people could enjoy the mixture of intimacy and anger. Or guilt. Or fear. Or any negative emotion, for that matter.

“My daughter’s in the spare bed. Take our room. I’m not going back to sleep.”

Susannah stood and fumbled her way up the staircase. Laura followed.

“Why? Why are you following me?” Susannah turned around to scowl and nearly lost her footing. “Was I unclear about us breaking up?”

Laura attempted a smile. “I know you’re too drunk to mean it. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay. We’ll talk about me moving in with a friend. And by friend, I mean someone who doesn’t think I’m a killer.”