A Five-Minute Life Read online

  A Five-Minute Life

  ©2019 Emma Scott Books, LLC

  Cover art by Melissa Panio-Petersen

  Interior Formatting by That Formatting Lady, https://thatformattinglady.com

  Proofreading by Proofingstyle.com

  Editing by Suanne Laqueur, Meanest Editor EverTM

  No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places (such as Blue Ridge Sanitarium, Roanoke Memorial, Richmond General) events or incidents, medical procedures and medication, are fictitious or have been used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Actual television shows and music referenced are the sole property of their copyright entities and this author claims no ownership, creation, competition, or credit for such herein.

  A NOTE ABOUT FOOTNOTES: There are two footnotes in one chapter of this book. The numbers to indicate the footnotes are clickable links. Clink on the number to take you to the footnote. Click on that same number on the footnote and it will take you back to where you were reading in the chapter.

  Table of Contents

  Playlist

  Dedication

  Part I

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Part II

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Part III

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Epilogue I

  Epilogue II

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  Sneak Peek

  More from Emma Scott

  Playlist

  Trampoline by SHAED (opening credits)

  Sweet Child O’ Mine by Guns N’ Roses

  bury a friend by Billie Eilish

  Bad Romance by Lady Gaga

  Black by Pearl Jam

  I Will Follow You Into the Dark by Death Cab for Cutie

  Dreamer by LP

  Tidal Wave by Portugal. The Man

  We Are Young by Fun. (feat. Janelle Monáe)

  BOOM by X Ambassadors

  Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) by Green Day

  Beloved by Mumford & Sons

  Times Like These by the Foo Fighters (closing credits)

  Dedication

  For Melissa. You mean more to me than I can say because you are everything to Izzy too...

  And to

  My precious Talia. You light up the darkest of rooms…

  Part I

  Prologue

  Thea

  Richmond, Virginia, two years ago

  My sister’s voice echoed up the stairs from the foyer.

  “Thea, let’s go.”

  “Coming,” I shouted back from my old bedroom in my parents’ house.

  I’d turned it into a temporary art studio while I stayed for the summer, with a tarp on the floor and an oversized canvas on an easel by the window. Delia bitched I’d only been home for three days and could I not make a mess of myself for her graduation? But not painting for three days was like asking me not to eat or breathe.

  Behind me, I had Netflix running through episodes of The Office, the World’s Best TV Show. I’d seen every one a hundred times. Mom said I was probably obsessed with it because it was like me: funny and honest and prone to cringe-worthy jokes at the worst times. Guilty on all counts.

  I brushed a lock of blond hair out of my eyes and wiped my hands on my linen smock. Purple and orange smears joined streaks of yellow and midnight blue. I used my fingers as well as brushes to manipulate the paint. Dad liked to tease I began finger painting as a toddler and never grew out of it.

  The tarp shuffled under my bare feet as I stepped back to study the canvas. An Egyptian pyramid cast a dark shadow across gold desert sand as the sun set in swathes of twilight color.

  My gaze jumped to the photo I’d taken of the real deal on our family trip to Giza last summer. I didn’t know what it was about those damn pyramids—or all of Egyptian history for that matter—that fascinated me so much, but I couldn’t leave the subject alone. Tombs that huge were mind-boggling to me. The Egyptians packed the pyramid’s inner chambers with all the things the dead pharaoh would need for the next life.

  As if they weren’t dead forever but just going away for a little while.

  “Like on a trip,” I murmured.

  “Althea, get down here right now,” Delia shouted. “We’re going to be late.”

  “It’s not possible to be late if you insist we leave three hours early!” I shouted back.

  I cocked my head at my work and a slow smile spread over my lips. I always let the painting decide when it was finished, and this one was done. Its colors and shapes evoked the majesty of the pyramid, the beauty of the desert, and the vastness of the sky above, exactly the way I wanted.

  I took off my smock. Beneath it, I wore a silky pink dress that swirled around my knees. A quick inspection showed only a few spatters of paint at the hem.

  Delia’s voice whipped up at me again. “I know my graduation doesn’t mean anything to you—”

  “Thea, dear,” my mother called up, smoothly interjecting. “Please come down now.”

  I gave my painting a final glance and grinned. “Not too shabby, Hughes,” I murmured.

  “Thea, I swear to God…”

  “I’m coming,” I said. I shut off the TV and bounded down the stairs. “By all means, let’s hurry, or else we won’t be able to sit around and wait for hours.”

  My parents—Sandra and Linden—were smartly dressed, waiting with Delia, who was in her navy-blue graduation gown that she wore like a uniform. She smoothed an errant strand of her shoulder-length dark hair and gave me the stink-eye as I forced my feet into the low-heeled pumps she urged me to wear for the occasion.

  “It’s my graduation and I say when we leave,” Delia said. “And what are you wearing?”

  “Heels,” I said. “But only because you’re forcing me.”

  “I meant your dress. There’s paint all over it.”

  “It’s only a few drops. Gives it character.”

  Delia rolled her eyes. “You’re a mess. As usual. I’m surprised you brushed your hair.”

  “It’s a Saturday, isn’t it?” I shot my dad a wink.

  He winked back. “Let’s go, my dears. It’s an hour drive, and if we leave now, we’ll be…” He pretended to check his watch. “Yes, quite early.”

  Delia sucked in a breath, switching on her infamous Business Mode.

  “I know you think I’m crazy, but you’ll thank me when we don’t have to hunt for parking. It’s going to be crowded and I get anxious if we run late.”

  “You? Anxious?” I sa
id. “Get out of town.”

  “God, can you take anything seriously for once in your life?” Delia said, rounding on me. “Stop with the jokes. And when the ceremony starts, you are not to cause a scene and embarrass me.”

  I blinked my eyes innocently. “Whatever do you mean?”

  She gave me a Delia Death Glare. “You know exactly what I mean. Nothing inappropriate.”

  “You’re no fun.”

  “You’re enough fun for the both of us.”

  “Truth.”

  My big sister was the most by-the-book gal you could hope to meet whereas I lived for the moment. Dad liked to joke that he had to take Mom’s word that we were blood-related.

  “We have time for a few photos,” Mom said, readying her cell phone. “Squish together, girls. You too, Linden.”

  “You gotta get in here, Mom,” I said. “Use my phone. It has a timer.”

  I bounced forward, opened the timer app in my phone and set it on the ledge across from our stairway. Then I bunched up with my favorite people in the world.

  “We have ten seconds,” I said through a smile. “Say cheese doodles.”

  The phone made a clicking sound. Mom took it off the shelf and checked the image.

  “Perfect. You both look beautiful.” Her eyes filled as she turned the camera to our dad. “Don’t they look beautiful?”

  Dad nodded. He hugged Delia around the shoulders. “We’re so proud of you, sweetheart.” He looked to me and shot me a wink. “You too, sweet pea.”

  Twenty-one years old and he was still calling me sweet pea. I hoped he’d never stop.

  I slung an arm around Delia. “I’m proud of you too, sis. University of Virginia’s salutatorian. You’re kind of a big deal.”

  “Thank you, Thea,” Delia said with the warm smile she saved for special occasions. Then she cleared her throat. Business Mode. “Can we please go now?”

  “Yes, yes.” Dad took his car keys off the hook on the wall and opened the front door with a flourish. “Ladies.”

  We shuffled toward the door, my feet already pinched in those silly shoes. A phone chimed in someone’s bag or pocket.

  “Mine,” Delia said, rummaging in her purse. She read a text and clenched her teeth. “Roger’s parents flaked on him. Again. He needs a ride to graduation.”

  “They’re not going to his graduation?” I asked. “God, they are the worst.”

  The Nyes lived a few blocks down, in a house like ours, on a street as nice as ours, and yet they may as well have lived on the moon, they were so different from Mom and Dad. My parents’ unfailing love and support for Delia and me made it impossible to understand how the Nyes consistently treated their son like an afterthought.

  “No problem,” Dad said. “We can swing by and pick him up.”

  Delia took her car keys off the hook now. “No, I’ll drive him. You guys go.”

  “Honey, we have time to get him.”

  She shook her head. “You know how Roger is. He’ll be embarrassed. It’s better if I drive him.”

  She caught us exchanging curious glances as we always did when she brought up Roger. They swore they were only friends, but they’d been inseparable since kindergarten. Only a Roger-in-need could throw my sister off her rigid schedule. Their friendship was one of the few things that brought out her softer side.

  “Look,” she said. “Driving with us will only make Roger feel even shittier. He’ll have to watch Mom and Dad be perfect together minutes after his parents let him down again.”

  “If you say so,” Dad said.

  “I say so.” Delia kissed his cheek, gave Mom a hug and patted me on my head. “Be good,” she said. “I’ll meet you there. Drive safe, but don’t dawdle.”

  She gave a final, stern look, then swept past us, out into the warmth of the late May afternoon. Her sharply pressed robes snapped crisply around her smart, low-heeled pumps that clopped on the pavement like a snare drum. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.

  “Awesome,” I said. “Now we can stop for pizza.”

  Mom gave her blond-going-silver curls a pat. “I think one of the best graduation gifts we can give your sister is to be in our seats when she arrives.”

  “Hold up.” I slipped off the heels and took my yellow sandals from the shoe rack at the door.

  “Thea,” Mom said. “You promised.”

  “Hey, I promised this boring dress. Delia-approved footwear was not in the contract. She won’t know until it’s too late.”

  We climbed into Dad’s silver Cadillac. Mom rode shotgun while I sat in the back behind her, and we hit the road, heading out of Richmond toward Charlottesville, Virginia. The views were stunning—rolling green hills and trees under a cloudless blue sky. I loved my home state, but I had no plans to stay in it. After graduating from VCU School of the Arts next year, I was hauling my ass directly to New York City.

  “How about some music, Pops?” I said from the back seat.

  “Eight seconds of silence,” Dad said. “A new record.”

  “Music is life,” I said, laughing. “Right after painting. And The Office. And pizza.”

  “No pizza.” Dad fiddled with the knob until he found my favorite station, and “Bad Romance” filled the car. “Good?”

  “Can’t go wrong with Lady Gaga.”

  Dad smirked. “I’ll take your word for it.”

  I grooved to the song as best I could within the confines of my seatbelt until Mom turned down the volume.

  “Poor Roger,” she said. “What are his parents thinking?”

  “I wonder what Delia is thinking,” Dad said. He peered at me through the rearview. “You have any sisterly intel on the two of them? Are they an item?”

  “No idea,” I said. “You know how Delia is. Wound up tight. She never tells me anything.”

  Mom craned around to peer at me. “And how about you? No date for the occasion?”

  “This is a family thing,” I said. “And none of the guys I’ve dated lately are worthy. They think I’m ‘fun’ and don’t want anything serious with me. Or maybe I don’t want anything serious with them. Maybe I’m not capable of serious.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true, honey,” Mom said.

  “Delia would beg to differ.”

  “I love your sister to pieces, but a monastery isn’t serious enough for her.”

  “Honestly, I can’t wait to fall in love, but I guess you can’t force these things. It’ll happen when it happens. I’ll meet That Guy. The one I can’t stop thinking about. And when what I feel about him starts to spill over into my art, I’ll know he’s the one.”

  “A wise philosophy,” Dad said.

  “Speaking of art,” Mom said, “how is your latest project coming along?”

  “It’s done. I finished just as Delia was about to blow a gasket.”

  “Wonderful, I can’t wait to see it.” Mom knocked my knee with the back of her hand. “You and your pyramids.”

  “Right?” I laughed. “If I ever get famous, Egypt will be my thing. Like Kahlo’s self-portraits or O’Keeffe’s vagina flowers.”

  “Thea.” Dad chuckled.

  “I’m not saying I’m a Frida or a Georgia—”

  “You wouldn’t say that because you’re too modest,” Mom said. “But as your mother, I’m allowed to brag that you’re right up there with the greats.”

  “As my mother, you’re contractually obligated to say that,” I said. “But thanks, Mama. You’re the best. I—”

  “Dear God,” my father cried out.

  Mom started to turn. “What…?”

  A flash of pale blue and blinding chrome.

  A bang as loud as the universe. I felt it in my bones. In my teeth. It echoed through the hood, through the windshield.

  It kept coming and coming and coming, tearing through us until there was nothing.

  Chapter 1

  Jim

  The red-and-white For Rent sign caught my eye through my helmet’s face shield. I slowed my Harley FX, parked it a
t the curb and lifted the visor.

  Behind a rickety fence was a tiny house, probably no more than nine hundred square feet, squatting on a patch of dried grass. The cement path leading up to the door was cracked. A crooked step on the stoop. Peeling white paint on the siding.

  Small, plain, and cheap.

  Perfect.

  I took off my helmet fished my cell phone out of my black leather jacket and called the faded number on the sign.

  It’s just a damn phone call, I thought, inhaling deep. Keep your shit together.

  A man answered. “Yeah.”

  Inhale. Exhale.

  “I’m calling about the house for rent in Boones Mill?”

  No stutter. Not even on the m in Mill. A minor victory.

  “Okay,” the guy said. “Six-fifty per month. Utilities included but not water. No pets. Wanna see it? I can be down there in five.”

  “I have a job interview at the Blue Ridge Sanitarium,” I said. “If I get the job, I’ll be back in a few hours. I could see it then.”

  The guy sighed. “So why call me now?”

  “I don’t want anyone to take it.”

  He chuckled over the distinct sound of an exhale of a cigarette—half cough, half laugh.

  “Son, you’re the first to call in a month. I think you’re safe.” A drag off his smoke. “You going to work up at Blue Ridge? With all the head cases and whackos?”

  I gripped the phone tighter. Asshole. “Just don’t rent the house, okay?”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll put a courtesy hold on it, just for you.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered. I hung up and my hand dropped to my jeans-clad thigh.

  The guy was right—no one wanted his crappy little house but me. The phone call was a dry run for my job interview at the sanitarium. I’d been driving since six this morning from Richmond and didn’t want my interviewer to be the first person I talked to.

  My ex-foster mother’s sneering tone filled my head.

  Like it matters, you big dummy. You’re going to stutter your way through that job interview and you know it.

  “Shut up, Doris,” I muttered.