Dead Politician Society

Chapter 68: Clare

Clare squished out her cigarette with her sneaker and entered the campus café. She hadn’t spoken with Cloutier since the donut shop, and neither he nor Morton had been in touch to pull her from the case officially. So as far as Clare was concerned, she might as well still come to school. Strange how much she liked it here.

At a table, she saw Jessica, her attention rapt on that day’s newspaper.

“Hey,” Clare said on her way to the coffee lineup.

Jessica’s eyes lifted briefly. “Hey.” She returned to reading.

Clare frowned. She wanted company, even if Jessica didn’t. She decided to be pushy. “Can I join you? I’m going to grab a coffee.”

“Sure. You can have a section of the paper.”

Clare returned with a dark roast and pulled up a chair. “You’re reading the obituaries?”

“It’s a little fucked-up. I find death comforting.” Jessica shot Clare a wry grin. “Sorry if I’m distracted.”

“Are you looking for someone you know?”

Jessica shook her head.

“Why is death comforting?” Clare blew on her coffee, then took a sip. Bitter and weak. She should have ordered the regular roast.

Jessica shrugged. “I still miss my parents. Maybe too much, considering how long they’ve been gone. Reading obituaries—the loving ones, written by families—reminds me that other people feel this too. Even if their grief is more recent than mine.”

“I don’t think you can control that kind of sadness. But, um, it’s kind of awesome that you loved them so much.” Clare wished she had parents that would make her this sad if they died. Well, she had had those parents—but they had died when they were still alive, when her dad lost his business and the depression started to eat him, then consumed her mother too. That had also been years. And, like Jessica, Clare still mourned their loss more than anything.

Jessica’s eyes were misty, like she was either close to tears or far away from here.

“You said your dad had an aneurysm. How did your mom die?”

“She killed herself.” Back to the present, dry-eyed.

Clare felt her mouth fall open. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I only get moments like this once or twice a year. Where the sadness—the stupid pointless shame of it all—overwhelms me for a day or two, and I need to read the obituaries or watch some tearjerker movie and dwell in it until it goes away. Most of the time, my parents’ deaths makes me more determined to do something with my life. Something big and real that makes big waves, so they won’t help but notice even if they’re a world away.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. I guess I have to decide soon. In less than two years, I’ll graduate. I mean, I’ll probably go to grad school too, but still.”

“Something environmental?” Clare asked.

“Probably. Yeah. Shit, please don’t tell anyone I’m this unsure of myself. Or this ambitious. I don’t know why I’m telling you.” Jessica fumbled with the clasp of her purse. When she finally opened it, she pulled out a pack of breath mints.

“It’s cool,” Clare said. “No one expects you to know everything now anyway. That’s the privilege of these university years. They don’t really count.”

“They do count, though.” Jessica’s face went dark. “I wish they didn’t, but they do.”