Dating the Dead • lrh

6. mystery

"Why did you give that cat to my Mum again?" I asked during the ride to her house. Mum insisted I should take Shelby home as a thank you for saving me from near-death bread choking.

She set the notebook she was scanning on her lap. "I didn't know Michael Clifford was a poet. He wrote a bunch in here," she said, flipping another page.

"Actually, he writes songs."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and you're not answering my question." I gave her a sharp glance.

I heard Shelby sigh. "As much as I wanted to, no one's going to look after him while I'm at school."

I pulled the car in front of the address she gave me. "You live alone?"

"Yeah, that's what happens when you can't keep your parents together in the same house." Her tone sounded like it was her responsibility to keep their home from falling apart.

I looked at her and thought I shouldn't push the subject. Instead, I helped her with her seatbelt which she was having trouble. "Here." When our skins touched, she retracted her hand like I had some kind of rash.

By the time I walked to her side of the car, Shelby managed to get the box on the pavement. We both bent to pick it up and we bumped into each other's heads. I volunteered to carry it so she can open her house.

"You didn't have to carry that all the way inside." She said after I placed the box on the tea table in her living room.

I shook my head, a silly smile stuck on my face as I plopped down on her couch. "Ha ha, funny."

Shelby stood across the table, her expression changed. Her eyebrows closely knit together as if studying me.

"What?" I suddenly felt uncomfortable with her eyes staring down into mine, it's like she's seeing my soul. "Do I have something on my face?"

"It's not really a mystery, you know." Her voice was low.

I cocked my head to the side, not quite getting what she's talking about.

"How to live your life to the fullest, it's not really a mystery."

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