The Good, the Bad, and the Gwen | ✔️

39 - Party Like a Drag Queen

After running the idea past Penny and getting her tearful blessing, we spend the next few days planning the event.

We tell everyone Hartley knew, and ask for their help spreading the word, about the open house party in her honor. And to reach those she didn't know, we make colorful flyers and distribute them around town, hoping to make the benefit as successful as possible.

As we pass out the invitations, every inch of the French Quarters reminds me of her. The corner store where she'd swiped her cigarettes when I first came to town. The vintage clothing and jewelry shops. Madame LaRue's House of Magic. Even the smell—cigarettes combined with jasmine and mossy trees. I close my eyes and breathe it in, trying to accept the fact that she's no longer here to appreciate the town she'd introduced me to.

"Do you think she knows what we're up to?"

It's early afternoon and Sully and I are sipping sodas at Lady Bijou's as the staff scurry around us, getting ready to open its doors.

He shrugs as a server stops by our table with more drinks. "I'd like to think she does."

"It's so weird not having her here," I tell him, taking my straw from the first glass and sinking it into the next. "I lay in bed at night expecting her to be lying right next to me, but when I look over, she's not there. And then I get to thinking about alternate universes and how maybe there is something more out there besides our own—just like she used to imagine with her dad. Is that crazy?"

He shakes his head. "Hartley had a way of inflicting her thoughts and beliefs on everyone. She could be very convincing."

It's true. I don't understand things like the Big Bang Theory or Heaven and Hell or how the universe first began, but Hartley had the ability to make her beliefs seem possible.

"Have you talked to Nick or Melanie?" I ask. "How are they doing?"

Sully slurps the last few drops of soda through the straw then pushes his glass to the side. "I've spoken to Melanie a few times. She's as well as can be expected. But I haven't talked to Nick."

The image of Nick standing behind Hartley and Sully the night I confronted them, his face hard like a statue, flashes through my mind. He was so angry, reliving their indiscretion all over again. "Did you two always hate each other, or was it because of ..." I can't finish the sentence.

Sully chews on his bottom lip, his gaze moving away from mine. "I've never liked him," he said. "And then when Hartley got sick—I mean, noticeably sick—it's almost like he encouraged it. Always telling her how good she looked ..."

It's like having the wind knocked out of me all over again. Everyone knew what was going on except for me. I suppose it'll always feel that way, but I try not to dwell. "Hartley knew what she was doing."

"I know you're right. But still. He's a serious douchebag."

I'm taking a sip when he says this. "I never understood what she saw in him to begin with."

"Who knows? Maybe it's that ridiculously thick neck of his?" And then he smiles. "Are you ready to finish passing out flyers?"

My eyes move to the remaining pile in the center of the table and I take one last swallow of my drink. "Let's do it. We have a party to throw!"