Mourning Wood

by Heather M. Orgeron

“Hear that, Whit?” she gloats. “Said, he’s open to it.”

  “I’d be open to being put up for adoption right about now.”

  “Well,” Hank interrupts. “I hate to be the one to put an end to this titillating conversation, but I have a body waiting to be embalmed downstairs.” His chair screeches when he scoots back from the table. “Priss, you comin’?” He hooks a thumb toward the door.

  “Can I, Momma?”

  “Please,” she answers, instantly deflating with relief. “Go on and give us all a little peace.”

  Once they’ve left, Marie starts gathering soiled plates in her arms. “I’m gonna go start on these here dishes, if you two wanna go find a movie or something in the living room…or Whit’s room. There’s a TV in there too,” the shameless woman volunteers. “We uh…got a dumpster ’round back as well.” Whitney’s eyes widen then narrow, and I would not be surprised to see actual laser beams shoot out of them.

  “Actually,” I say, putting myself between Whitney and her mother before there’s a brawl, “I was just about to ask your lovely daughter if she would accompany me for a nightcap. Beau texted me a few minutes ago to see if we wanted to stop by for a Friendsgiving game of poker.”

  “I don’t know,” Whitney hedges. “This was a lot.” She waves a hand over the table, darting a glare at her mother. “Maybe we should just quit while we’re ahead…call it a night.”

  “Pretty sure I just earned myself another date.” I rub a hand over my chest, puffing it out with pride.

  “You what?” She leaps to her feet. “No way. That wasn’t specified beforehand.”

  I steeple my hands beneath my chin. “Come on. Don’t make me be the third wheel. Beau and Kate are disgustingly in love. It’s torture.”

  She shuts her eyes, slowly shaking her head. “Nothing’s changed, Wyatt. This is…so much. We’re not even together.”

  Not yet. I don’t say it, but I damn sure think it. The more I’m around her the surer I am that I’m gonna make her mine, whatever and however long it takes. “You’re makin’ a mountain outta a mole hill.”

  “A what?” she says drawing back with a grin.

  “Somethin’ my Mimi used to say. Means you’re reading too much into this…looking for trouble where you’ll find none.”

  “Am I?”

  “We’re friends, right?”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “Then come with me to Beau and Kate’s…as my friend.”

  I’m sorting through end of the month financials for November when Momma peeks her head into my office. “Eleanor Breaux is here to go over William’s arrangements.”

  A thick lump of emotion becomes wedged in my throat as I set down my pen, and nod. “You can send her in.”

  I haven’t seen Elly since high school, and we weren’t really the best of friends back then, but still, it’s painful to even imagine what she’s going through, losing her husband so young. And to a brain tumor, of all things. Word around town is they just found out she’s pregnant a month ago, making their circumstances even more tragic. Death is always wretched, but young people add an extra layer of despair. The tragedy of a life cut short—those are always the hardest to come to grips with.

  “Hey, Whitney.” The red-faced, puffy-cheeked widow pokes her head into the room, and I wave her inside.

  “How are you?” I walk around the desk to greet her with a hug. “I’m so sorry about William,” I say, smoothing a hand over her back.

  “Thank you.” She sniffles into a wad of crumbling tissue in her palm, and my heart aches. She looks like hell, in a pair of ratty sweats that swallow her thin frame. Her hair is matted with tears, and her eyes sunken in. It’s the face of grief, and one I’m all too familiar with.

  “Have a seat.” I motion to the armchair in front of my desk.

  Once she’s settled, I pass her a box of Kleenex, and hold the waste bin out for her to dispose of the soiled wad still clutched in her hand.

  “Thanks.”

  I nod. “So, Daddy tells me William wanted to be cremated, with no viewing?” I get right down to business, trying to avoid a breakdown if at all possible. I’ll be a shoulder if needed, but she’s got family to fall apart with. It’s my job to be sympathetic, while also keeping a level head. To think of all the minor details, she’s likely too upset to consider.

  “That’s right,” she says, her hand moving to cup her still flat stomach.

  A pulsing ache invades my chest. “You’re pregnant?”

  “Just made ten weeks.”

  “Do you have plans to have something made for the baby with some of William’s cremains?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it, to be honest.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” I open my drawer, retrieving a few sample products and line them up on the edge of my desk. “I think this one would be perfect,” I say, placing the glass orb in her palm. The glass can be swirled with the color of your choosing, but the dragonfly at the top…”

  “It’s made of ash,” she says, eyes wide as she brushes a thumb over the art. “This is beautiful. It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “No problem.” I offer her a sympathetic smile. “Do you want to go take a look at the show room and pick out an urn?”

  “Actually,” she says, reaching into her satchel. “I had something custom made.”

  Her cheeks redden.

  “Oh,” I say, rolling my chair back under the desk. “Don’t be embarrassed. You don’t have to buy something from here. People bring their own keepsakes all the time.”

  She huffs a nervous laugh. “This one’s a bit…unusual.”

  “Girl, I have seen it all,” I assure her. “Lay it on me.”

  That’s when she whips out an eight-inch circumcised dildo. It’s so lifelike—flesh toned, complete with veins.

  “Oh,” I say, trying my hardest to keep a straight face. “I’ve heard of these. Never actually filled one yet, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

  She grins. “I found it on a handmade site, online…it’s actually made from a cast of William’s penis.”

  “That is…amazing,” I say, at a loss for how to respond. “You know you’re still gonna need an urn. Even with the dragonfly and…receptacle, you’ll have a lot of cremains left.”

  “Oh, okay,” she says, shoving it back into her bag. “Lead the way.”

  We spend almost an hour in the show room before she finally decides on a large black marble urn with a matching miniature for William’s parents. After selections have been made, we go back to my office to finalize details and sign papers and then I get up to see her out.

  “Wait,” she says, when we reach my office door. “I almost forgot to give this back to you. She whips out William’s penis for the second time, and it’s still just as shocking.

  “Oh, you can just hold on to that and take a little of the cremains from the urn when you pick it up to fill it.”

  We’ve managed to get through over two hours together without more than a few tears during what has to be the hardest day of this woman’s life, until now. Heaving sobs wrack her fragile form.

  I shut the door, guiding her back to the chair. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not you,” she says, her lower lip quivering while she snivels into her sleeve. “I—I’m too afraid to—to touch the ummm…the…”

  “The ashes?” I offer, realizing what I’m going to have to do. There’s not much we aren’t willing to accommodate in order to ease the pain of our clients. And it’s starting to look like this will be no different.

  She nods.

  “Hand it over,” I say, with as much dignity as I can muster.

  She spits a laugh through her tears. “I know I’m ridiculous… God, this is so embarrassing. I promise, it hasn’t been used.”

  Even with years of experience keeping my wits in the most asinine situations, I cannot contain the loud cackle that bursts from my chest. “I really should have thought to ask that questi
on before grabbing it with my bare hands, huh?”

  We’re both rolling by the time she gets up again to leave. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Whitney.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I say, walking her to the front door. “Your husband’s penis is in good hands with me.”

  Just one…more…screw… I bend until my cheek is almost meeting the floor, twisting my wrist to get the drill beneath the pew and attach the custom kneeler. My back and shoulders are on fire from being in this crouched position for so long. Sweet mercy is finally within reach… lunch break!

  “Nice plumber crack ya got goin’ there.”

  Thunk! “Ouch! Son of a—”

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

  I come up, holding the throbbing lump already protruding from the crown of my head. It’s more than possible I exaggerate the pain just a smidge when Whitney crouches beside me to inspect the damage. “Fuck. That hurt.”

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she offers, biting back a grin. “Does it hurt really bad?”

  “You think this is funny?” I growl, wincing for affect.

  She shakes her head, letting a snort slip through as she reaches around moving my hands out of the way to feel for herself. “It’s not.” She sucks in her cheeks. “It’s not funny…”

  Dear Lord, but it amuses me how hard she’s working to keep a straight face. “You trying to convince me? Or yourself?”

  “I just can’t help it.” She snickers. “I have this awful habit of laughing when people hurt themselves.” With the gentlest touch, she rubs the pads of her fingers over the knot. “I mean, I like to think if anyone were ever seriously injured in my presence, I would react appropriately.”

  I grip the back of the pew, cracking my knees when I push up to standing, then reach for her hand to help her back up. “Well, at least we know you ended up in the right career.” I take a brief moment to appreciate how beautiful she looks today with her hair pinned up in a bun and a blouse that’s cut just high enough to pass for decent while still offering a hint of mouthwatering cleavage. That milky expanse of skin along her neck is just begging for my lips. My pulse speeds up, and I’m feeling hot beneath the collar.

  “Why do you say that? Because they’re dead?”

  Her question draws me from my stupor. I clear my throat. “Precisely.”

  “I really would be a disaster in the medical field.” She cracks a huge grin. “Or, could you imagine…me as a teacher?”

  “A lawsuit waiting to happen,” I agree.

  She shrugs. “What can I say? Gotta have gumption to work here.”

  “Gumption…” I hold out one hand. “Balls,” I say, holding out the other while tipping them side to side like a teeter totter.

  “Huh?”

  I can’t help but chuckle at the recent memory. “A very wise beyond her years six-year-old once told me that not everyone has the balls to work in a funeral home.”

  Her jaw drops. “She didn’t?”

  I wave away her mortification. “She was really trying to be sweet.”

  Her eyes roll. “Sounds like it.”

  “She was attempting to sooth my ego when I declined her invitation to assist in an embalming.”

  “She did not!”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “I joke about it all the time, but I really should enroll that child in etiquette classes.”

  “Don’t you dare.” I shudder at the thought. “She’s perfect.”

  Her lip quirks with uncertainty. “Thanks for saying that.” But she doesn’t look at all like she believes I’m serious.

  “I mean it.” I move to my workstation to put away some of my tools. “Anyway… What can I do for ya?” My hand involuntary moves back to the egg-sized lump. “Or did you just drop by to enjoy the view of my backside?” I glance over my own shoulder, toward the ass in question.

  “I did actually come by to ask for a little favor…” She fans her long lashes up at me while pinching two fingers together, leaving only the teensiest sliver of space. “That,” she says, following my line of sight to my ass, “was just a bonus.”

  To say I’m shocked by her flirty demeanor would be putting it mildly. “What’s that?” I ask, cupping a hand around my ear. “Did I just hear you say you stopped by to arrange another date?”

  “Tell you what,” she says, taking my hand and starting for the door, “you help me with this chore, and I’ll owe you two.”

  I should probably be more concerned with the nature of the task at hand, especially since she’s readily offering up an extra date, but I’ve lost the ability to think rationally. My head is suspended in the clouds as I allow her to lead me out back across the yard to the crematorium, only stopping to question her when we’re a few feet from the door and deep-seated fear starts to outweigh the looming reward. “You’re not gonna ask me to burn a body, right? Cuz you could literally strip down and offer yourself on a silver platter as a bribe, and as much as it’d kill me, I’d have to respectfully decline.”

  She drops my hand to cover the laugh that bursts forth from her chest. “You have to have a license to cremate people.” She’s looking at me like I’m positively ridiculous.

  “Right…”

  “Come on, scaredy cat.” She jerks my arm, but my feet stay rooted to the soil. My heart is beating out of control, my earlier excitement quickly being overtaken by panic.

  “I’d prefer to know what this task entails first.” The prospect of what lies on the other side of that door has me breaking out in a sweat.

  “Prissy was right,” she taunts. Her sapphire eyes drop briefly to my crotch before lifting to meet my gaze.

  “Ouch,” I say, “Low blow.”

  She shrugs, and when I don’t budge, blows out a long breath. “A customer requested some of her husband’s cremains be placed in an odd-shaped container.” Her voice wavers. There’s a whole lot she isn’t saying…intentionally. And I’m not sure I want to find out what that something is. “It won’t stand on its own… I just need you to hold it so I can fill it. Easy peasy.” She twists a key in the lock and pushes the door open.

  Immediately I’m hit with an odor I won’t soon forget—like a pig roasting over an open flame, combined with burned leather and an acrid, sweet scent so strong I can practically taste it. The worst part is knowing exactly what that smell sitting on the tip of my tongue is.

  “You coming?” she asks, staring back at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “There’s nothing in here but ash, I promise.” She crosses a finger over her heart. “I wouldn’t trick you like that.”

  “Fine,” I say, lifting the neck of my T-shirt to cover my nose and mouth. “Let’s make it quick.” I follow her inside the dimly lit building, noting the walls covered in black soot stains.

  “That’s the furnace.” Whitney points, drawing my attention to a huge metal contraption. “It’s where the magic happens,” she says with a smile. She crosses the room, to a steel table. “And this here,” she adds, nodding toward what looks like some sort of kitchen appliance, “is the grinder.”

  A visual of Jeffrey Dahmer turning human body parts into ground meat and sausages comes to mind and I blanch. “I’m afraid to ask…”

  “Whatever doesn’t burn, mostly bones, gets ground into a fine powder and mixed with the ashes.”

  “That’s only slightly less creepy than what I was imagining.”

  “I don’t find it the least bit unnerving.” She looks around the space fondly, like it’s just another room in her house, and I guess as far as she’s concerned, it is. “Death is an inevitable part of life…a ritual…a rite of passage.”

  “I couldn’t do it.”

  “Well,” she says, “I can’t bring myself to deal with them before they’re embalmed, mostly because the blood and other bodily fluids gross me out.”

  “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” I say, reading her expression. “And while I appreciate your intent, can we just get this over with, without the gra
nd tour?”

  A devilish grin curves her rosy lips, and there’s trouble written all over that pretty face of hers when she reaches into the bag dangling from her shoulder and slaps a rubber penis into my palm.

  I jump back like it’s a snake about to attack, holding it out as far from my person as possible. “This some kind of sick joke?”

  “Deathly serious,” she offers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her quite so pleased with herself. “That’s no run of the mill willy you have there.”

  “No?”

  “You, my friend, are holding an exact replica of William’s penis. His widow special-ordered it and would like it filled with some of his essence.”

  Just when I think a day in the life of working in a funeral home can’t possibly get any weirder.

  “Don’t worry, she assures me that it hasn’t been used…yet.”

  “Thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.”

  “Really?” she asks, widening those baby blues.

  “I haven’t moved past the fact that I have a dead guy’s dick in my hand…and that it feels eerily real.” I shudder.

  She moves to the covered box on the table, smothering a laugh. “I just need you to hold it a moment longer while I get these ashes inside.”

  “I think this calls for a bit more than two dates.” I close the space between us, advancing until she’s backed against the table, her palms resting on the surface.

  She tilts her face up toward mine. Mischief dances in her eyes. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “A kiss.”

  She pulls her lower lip between her teeth, giving my proposition obvious thought before bobbing her head. “One kiss…when you walk me to the door after our next date.” She ticks off her conditions on her fingers, adding one more before I have the chance to counter. “No tongue.”

  “One kiss,” I agree, wrapping my free hand around her slender waist and pulling her close. “No service till payment is rendered.”

  “What?” She glances around the cramped space, her chest beginning to rise and fall rapidly with the acceleration of her breaths. “Here?”

  I nod, bending forward to breathe in her scent, letting jasmine and vanilla drown out the stench of the room. I trail my nose along her collar bone and up the bend of her neck. “Right here,” I whisper against her ear. “Right now.”