You Look Beautiful Tonight

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Otherwise, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Text copyright © 2023 by Julie Patra Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher. Published by Thomas & Mercer, Seattle www.apub.com Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Thomas & Mercer are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates. ISBN-13: 9781662508882 (paperback) ISBN-13: 9781662508875 (digital) Cover design by James Iacobelli Cover image: © rolfo / Stocksy United To everyone who ever felt invisible CONTENTS Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Chapter Fifty-Two Chapter Fifty-Three Chapter Fifty-Four Chapter Fifty-Five Chapter Fifty-Six Chapter Fifty-Seven Chapter Fifty-Eight Chapter Fifty-Nine Chapter Sixty Chapter Sixty-One Chapter Sixty-Two Chapter Sixty-Three Chapter Sixty-Four Chapter Sixty-Five Chapter Sixty-Six Chapter Sixty-Seven Chapter Sixty-Eight Chapter Sixty-Nine Chapter Seventy Chapter Seventy-One Chapter Seventy-Two Chapter Seventy-Three Chapter Seventy-Four Chapter Seventy-Five Chapter Seventy-Six Chapter Seventy-Seven Chapter Seventy-Eight Chapter Seventy-Nine Chapter Eighty Chapter Eighty-One Chapter Eighty-Two Chapter Eighty-Three Chapter Eighty-Four Chapter Eighty-Five Chapter Eighty-Six Chapter Eighty-Seven Chapter Eighty-Eight ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHOR Chapter One Life asked Death, Why do people hate me and love you? Death responded with, Because you’re a beautiful lie and I’m a painful truth. —Unknown Blood seeps through the cream-colored carpet, fading into the thick fibers, a river of life runneth over and under until death do us part. The same carpet that now absorbs one life and yet hugs my feet and cushions my body. Seconds tick by, eternal seconds, a clock ticking somewhere—loud, heavy, eternal. I try to draw in air, but I can’t catch my breath. My throat is raw, my chest tight. Run, I tell myself. Run, before it’s too late to run. I rotate and immediately hit a hard surface—a piece of furniture, I think—banging my leg, pain radiating from my kneecap and down my shin. The room is spinning. The smell of death permeates the air, a scent no one can understand without experiencing it, living it while another person dies inside the horrific stench of it. Death has an energy, too, as contrary as that may sound, almost as if you can feel the grim reaper doing his work with a heavy pull that Chapter Two The past, two weeks ago . . . When I was seven, my strict mathematician mother, who maintains a rigid schedule, picked me up from school an hour late. I’d stood there on a scorching Tennessee day, sticky and hot, gripping the straps to my My Little Pony book bag, and watching the other kids depart and head off to their blissful homelife. No one asked if I was okay. No one seemed to even notice me at all. I’d been certain my mother had been killed in a car accident or, at the very least, was lying on the side of the road, bloodied and dying. I’d been hunting for someone, anyone, to help me, when finally our gray Suburban pulled up to the curb. My mother hadn’t even gotten out of the car. She’d popped the door open and yelled, “Hurry, Mia,” as if I were the one running late. “We have to go to the store to grab ketchup for the meat loaf.” I’d done as she’d ordered, happy to be in the car, happy to still have a family, but as an adult, I have another take.