Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
Another day dawned and Healy offered to take me to lunch. The plan was to subway it downtown, go for a stroll along the Harbourfront, then make our way north to the Yorkville district. That stretch of road is Toronto's hub for posh restaurants, upscale boutiques, and bespoke suits. It's a fun walk, full of opportunity to poke fun at the pretentious rich and not-so-rich strutting like peacocks and sipping outrageously priced drinks at sidewalk cafes.
My head was buried in my bedroom closet picking out just the right outfit for our day on the town when the living room phone rang. Again, according to my routine for screening calls, I didn't pick up the phone, opting to let the answering machine engage the caller. But when a man's voice started coming through the machine, I stepped to the doorway to listen. The speaker's gravelly register sent a chill up my spine.
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"Gravely, you did a bad thing. Daddy's girl has to be punished," he breathed heavily for several seconds. Then the phone went dead.
After the initial shock of hearing father's voice, I replayed the message. Of course, it would be the same haunting, threatening words, but I wanted to make sure I heard every nuance. I replayed it again, looking over my shoulder to the bathroom. Healy was in there shaving, earbuds planted securely in his head, listening to his iPad music. A wave of excitement crashed over me.
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Healy didn't believe a word I'd spoken about my father but the message was evidence. It was undeniable proof my dead father was out and about and dangerous. I ran into the bathroom interrupting a Karaoke session. Healy sang into a hairbrush that doubled as a microphone, and he was performing a duet with Frank Sinatra. Pretty sure the tune was Sinatra's "That's life". Good song.
His face was half-full of Barbasol, but it didn't matter. I dragged him into the living room where the answering machine was.
"You've got to hear this," I said excitedly.
My trembling fingers reached down to hit the play button. At the very same time, gravity worked its magic and a thick glob of shaving lather landed on top of the machine. My finger slipped on the soap and the unit beeped three times. Instantly I realized what I'd done.
