Shortly after he’d finished, David lay in bed, wondering whether or not he should kill Shade. It wasn’t what his father would do, certainly. But he wasn’t his father.
Ricky would’ve wanted to be avenged. That’s just who he was.
The girl lay next to David, just looking at him. She lay at one edge of the bed, he at the other. Space loomed between them.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked him.
He didn’t snap out of his reverie. Instead, he remembered where he was somewhat slowly.
“Nothing important,” he said, smiling.
This time, she saw how fake the smile was. He was still in another world, trying to put together the pieces. Sure, Ricky would’ve wanted to be avenged, but did that make it right? David wondered if he had to follow the will of the dead, or if they were just that — dead, gone from the world and unimportant so far as its affairs went.
He remembered being dead. He shook his head.
“Tell me about Death of a Salesman,” she said.
She blinked. “The play you were in.”
“It’s not interesting.” He nodded his head, flashing another smile. “I’m gonna go.”
She wanted to tell him something, but didn’t quite know what to say. He was strange, distant. Then again, he’d seemed strange and distant when he’d walked into the coffee shop. Could she blame him for being who he was?
He put on his clothes, for what seemed like an agonizingly long time. He forgot to say goodbye as he walked out the door.
“Huh,” she said.