A Tale of Two Carnies

42 - The Memory Book

My overnight trip to New York City turned into a weeklong nightmare. Since I had been present with Cozbi during her death, the police questioned me at length, suspecting I had been the one to supply her with the pills. They didn't arrest me but warned me to remain in the city until they could clear me.

My boss was understanding. He told me to take all the time I needed. My job would be waiting for me when I returned.

The normally acerbic Miri Gold stepped up to help me. She arranged for me to move from the obscenely expensive hotel suite into a regular room at a different, less expensive hotel.

To say I was bereft would be an understatement. I felt destroyed. I couldn't think. I couldn't sleep. I had lost my appetite. I obsessed over what I could have done differently to rescue Cozbi from her terminal despair.

I wouldn't have held up without Shelly's support. She kept in constant contact by phone, several times a day, reassuring me. Just hearing her voice buoyed me.

Although dazed, one duty I managed to tackle with clear resolve was the handling of Cozbi's final arrangements. No way could I allow some bureaucratic stranger to make decisions regarding the disposal of her remains. She had been my family and my friend. I considered it my duty to look after her one last time.

Miri Gold funded everything I needed. She held nothing back. When I thanked her, she told me it hadn't been an altruistic gesture. As Cozbi's agent, all of Cozbi's income filtered through her. She planned to reimburse herself and add a hefty service charge.

I heard nothing from Marcus Tolliver. He appeared on a news report expressing shock and sadness over the untimely death of his protégé. He made no mention of how the two of them had been lovers. Cozbi never admitted it, but I knew it to be true from the way she obfuscated every time I warned her about being suspicious of his motives. My judgment of him had been spot on. During the interview, he made a point stressing how her Urban Urchin original artwork would skyrocket in price now that she was gone.

The insensitive bastard.

On the day I was cleared to leave, Miri Gold came to see me with more shocking news. Cozbi had a will. She was leaving everything to me. I mean, what twenty-year-old draws up a will? How would something like that even cross her mind? Of course, the answer was obvious. She had planned her exit.

Miri told me it would take several months for the will to clear probate. When it did, she estimated I stood to inherit two to three hundred thousand dollars. Cozbi had earned a modest fortune in a short period of time.

Her thinking of me, I guessed, was her way of paying back. I would much rather if my friend had remained in this world.

On the train ride back to Pennsylvania, I held the urn with Cozbi's ashes on my lap, embracing it, pondering memories of our time with the carnival.

As I stepped from the train, Shelly waited for me with a smile and a hug, just the medicine I needed. She insisted I should drive back to the trailer, so it would give me something different to distract me. She talked non-stop about the goings-on in her life, her classes, her exams, mundane things, as a reminder of how life goes on.

I loved her for the way she comforted me and for her gift of empathy.

After we arrived at the trailer and settled onto the sofa, she asked, "What are you feeling right now?"

I looked her in the eye. "Guilt. I should've seen the signs. I should've paid closer attention to the words she used, her talk of being unable to feel, her talk of being poured out, and her melancholy. I should've realized when she spoke of going home what she really meant." Swallowing the lump in my throat, I went on. "I was a blind, stupid, fool. I failed her, Shelly."