Mortal Remains

by Mary Ann Fraser

  “It is, but it isn’t healing. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what to do.”

  “I do. You turn him in to the police, and then you call the media and get a bidding war going for the story. With any luck, we’d get enough to stall the sale of the mortuary.”

  “You can’t be serious. I can’t do that!”

  “Right, because what do you care about the business?”

  “It’s not that at all. Do you know what would happen if knowledge like this got out, the ability to create life from clay? It would have huge repercussions—in science, in our culture, you name it. We’ve already seen what people are willing to do for it. And what about Adam? Once people found out what he is, he’d be thrown under a microscope, virtually, if not literally, dissected. His life such as it is would be toast.”

  “I guess you’re right, but what do you care?”

  “I just do,” I said.

  “Oh my god, look at you! You’re turning red. My little stepsis has totally fallen for a—a whatever. I don’t believe it. I knew you were weird, but this!” He gestured at Adam.

  “Shut up! Do you hear me? Shut. Up.” I threw down the roll of gauze, grabbed Evan by the shoulders, and forcibly wrenched him around to face me. “I have never asked you for anything. I’m asking you to do this for me now. Can you?”

  As soon as I released him, he backed as far from me as he could, both hands held high in surrender. “Way to toughen up, buttercup. But all right. I promise. I won’t tell a soul.”

  I had to wonder why I’d never stood up to him before. Probably for the same reason I’d never stood up to Shep or any of the others who took me for easy game: fear that none of them would take me seriously. And why would they, when I didn’t take myself seriously?

  I refocused on the job at hand. “A couple more pieces of tape and then we have to move him to the cottage without anyone seeing us.”

  “I have to carry him all the way out there?”

  “Evan, you carry bodies all the time, some much heavier.”

  “Not like his.”

  “Now who’s the buttercup?”

  Getting Adam to his room proved no easy feat, but together we managed. Already his temperature had dropped several more degrees. I placed a warm water bottle on his chest and instructed Evan to tell Rachel, Dad, and Nana that Adam and I went to a movie and wouldn’t be back until late. To my surprise, he didn’t argue.

  Rachel had packed away all our electric blankets for the summer, so I sat with Adam, changing out cooled compresses for warm ones to raise his temperature. When that didn’t work, I crawled into the bed beside him. Nestled against him, I felt each shiver, heard each syllable of his incoherent ramblings. Most were in Latin or Ancient Greek, but every now and then he spoke to someone he called the girl in pink flip-flops. He told her—twelve-year-old me—that he waited each day, hoping she’d cut through the orchard. I wondered again how he knew any of it. It couldn’t be memory. This Adam did not exist back then.

  I felt his forehead. He easily could be one of the cold ones lying on the prep table. Without thinking I slipped into that comfortable place where I could talk freely, openly, without fear of judgment.

  “And then one afternoon in the late fall,” I said softly, as if I were telling him a Grimms’ fairy tale, “his mother sends him out to pick walnuts so she can bake him a loaf of banana bread, his favorite—or so he tells me. A few nuts remain on the uppermost branches, which is where he is when a girl comes tearing through the orchard, followed by a pack of kids calling her names and pelting her with twigs, walnuts, and rocks. He shouts to her, leans down, and gives her a hand. He promises he’ll protect her, and together they climb to the top of the tree. It’s a promise he can’t keep.

  “Eventually, the kids down below grow bored and leave. For a time she’s safe. The boy tells her he wants his own orchard someday. The girl says her father is hoping she’ll become a funeral director, like her grandfather and her grandfather’s father.

  “But then it all goes wrong. The boy with the lovely deep brown, gold-flecked eyes lowers to the ground and announces it’s safe to climb down. But the girl loses her footing and drops to the earth, breaking a femur and shattering her pelvis. The shock of the fall stops her heart.

  “He breathes life back into her, his breath for hers, keeping her alive until someone—his mother, a stranger?—hears his cries for help and comes to see what’s the matter. The doctors don’t think she’ll walk again.”

  “She’s broken . . . broken,” Adam muttered.

  “No,” I say. “Not completely. She endures surgery after surgery, months of physical therapy. One day she takes a step, and then another. By then so much time has gone by. Still, she wants to thank the boy, but she worries. What if he rejects her? Finally she finds an ounce of courage, wraps a sand dollar in a brown paper bag, and brings it to his house. She figures he could use a couple angels.”

  But her gift never reaches the boy, and he dies.

  “And then I found you. So see, I’m not broken. Not anymore. You mended me. You showed me that hiding is worse than facing what frightens me.”

  Adam calmed after that, falling into a deep but restless slumber, and I resumed my place in the chair beside his bed in case Evan returned.

  Later that evening Evan brought me a chicken potpie, still bubbling from the oven. Coincidence, or did he actually remember potpie was my favorite go-to comfort food?

  “How’s he doing?” he asked, more serious than I was used to.

  “Not good,” I said.

  He tentatively touched Adam’s forearm, which was flopped over the mattress. “His skin is really cold—about fifteen-minutes-gone cold.”

  “Any of the others asking about us?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I told them you two were shacked up at some sleazy hotel.”

  There was the Evan I knew and loved. “Very funny. What did you really tell them?”

  “I said you were sleeping over at Mal’s and Adam had gone to Zmira’s to play cards.”

  “Does Adam even know how to play cards?”

  “Sure. Tony and I taught him.”

  And probably took him for every penny he had.

  To my amazement, Evan stuck around. We talked about how he was looking forward to school next year and was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake with Mal. I told him he could do worse—a lot worse. Yeah, she could be shallow and a bit self-absorbed, but that was exactly why they would make such a great match. That got me a playful elbow jab to the ribs.

  “Dad tell you about the offer?” Evan asked.

  I nodded.

  “Did he tell you it includes the house and the grounds?”

  “No, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” Still, it pained me to think of moving out of this house, of never again hearing the voices of my ancestors in its creaks and rattles, of letting the dust settle on every hand-wrought furnishing without my fingers to run through it, of abandoning all this—everything they’d built from nothing but a dream for a better life. I looked Evan square in the eyes. “I don’t want to sell. I changed my mind. Not that I’ve told Dad, Rachel, or Nana.”

  “So now you want the business? You?” He gave a loud huff, like he thought the idea was totally ridiculous—inconceivable, even.

  “Why not?”

  “You do makeup.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t do more.”

  “Dad failed. What makes you think you can you do any better?”

  “Well, for a start, I’d take on a couple additional people to help run the office and rehire Tony with a raise while I get my mortician certification. I also have a whole plan drawn up to do more with our advertising.”

  “Oh, here we go with that logo stuff again.”

  “Yes, that logo stuff again, plus a lot more. Stop sounding like Dad. Evan, they’re good ideas. We have to get out there and advertise.”

  He shrugged, but at least he shut up and listened.

  “We nee
d to make our business stand out from the competition. We could offer premortem packages so people can pay in advance. I think families would go for that. Green burial options are growing in popularity, and there’s that new line of caskets coming out called Elements, the size-inclusive ones.” We’d seen the brochures from the vendors. “It’s more affordable than custom ordering, and honestly, it’s about time caskets came in a wider size range. I’ve also started looking into building our own crematorium. You know, permits, loans, that sort of thing. We have the land—”

  Evan held up both hands. “Whoa, hold on, girl. Those are all great ideas. Why haven’t you ever said anything before now?”

  “I’m just a makeup artist,” I said, imitating Rachel’s honeyed voice. “What do I know about business?”

  “You should have said something.”

  “I did. That logo stuff, remember?” He had the decency to look shamefaced. “Standing up and making suggestions has brought me nothing but grief around here. I’m so done with that.”

  Adam stirred. Had he heard? The way he slipped in and out of consciousness, it was hard to tell. They say hearing’s the last sense to go. I couldn’t bear to think about it.

  “It’s not too late,” Evan added, giving my shoulder a brotherly fist bump. “I think you should go for it. You’d make a great funeral director. Maybe you could work for someone else and then open your own funeral home down the road.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Yeah, I guess not.”

  It wasn’t until Evan left and I’d relocked the door that I realized that was probably the most we’d ever talked.

  I stayed with Adam, passing the time by mindlessly stitching daisies on a scrap of satin. By two in the morning, his body temperature had steadied and his fits were fewer and further between. It was the first sign that he might survive this after all. Now all I had to do was keep him still long enough for the wound to heal—if that was possible. Did his skin cells even regenerate like mine? I doubted it. In addition to the bruises he received at the hands of the ex-feds, there were still traces of discoloration where Hayden kicked him, and the missing plug of skin on his forearm wasn’t any better, either.

  I watched him sleep. He was a masterpiece in nearly every regard—Neil’s masterpiece, I reminded myself—and as human in his actions as anyone I’d ever known, more so than some if you included Jim Sturbridge, Hayden Jornet, or the Bramstead brothers.

  I dozed off and didn’t wake until long after the first light of dawn had peeked through the gap between the drawn curtains. When I lifted my head, Adam was staring at me, a narrow blade of sunshine falling across his face. “Thirsty?” I asked, handing him the glass of water from the nightstand.

  “What happened?”

  “Your wound opened. I redid the dressing. If you take it easy for a few days, it should heal.”

  “But I promised Zmira . . . I’d trim his front hedges today . . . and we’re meeting Devlin tonight.”

  “You and your promises. You’re in no condition to do either. You can’t even keep your eyes open. Zmira will understand.” Not really. “And I’ll meet with Devlin. You need your rest.”

  To my relief, he didn’t argue. Instead he asked for the mirror on the bureau. I brought it to him, and he had me peel back the edges of the taped gauze to examine where the gash grazed one of the characters inked into his flesh.

  “Met,” he mumbled.

  “Who did you meet?’ I asked.

  He pointed to the tattoo again. “Met,” he repeated.

  “Oh, emet. Yes, I know. It means ‘truth.’ I read about it. That’s why you can only speak the truth.” I was proud I’d figured out that much.

  He rolled his head side to side.

  “Adam, I don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

  But he’d drifted off again. Probably for the best.

  I left a plate of food and a note with strict instructions telling him to rest in case he woke while I was out. I’d be back to check on him later. I went to the main house to shower, change, and get a bite to eat. We had a new client, three sisters inquiring for their mother, and I wanted to look my best. Yesterday, to my parents’ surprise, I’d asked to handle the arrangement conference. Rachel assured me she’d be close by in case I ran into any difficulties.

  After going over the various plans we offered, I led the Rhodes sisters to our display room. “Let me show you our options. As you can see, we have several vessels to choose from for a scattering at sea. The pink salt crystal urn has been particularly popular this year.”

  Lisa, the oldest and most pragmatic of the sisters, frowned. “You drop the whole thing into the water?”

  “You can,” I say. “In time the vessel dissolves and the ashes scatter with the currents.”

  “That would be nice,” said Hailey. “Mom always did like the ocean.”

  Lisa shot her a look that could have come right out of Evan’s playbook. “Couldn’t we leave the ashes in the cardboard box they came in? It would be a lot cheaper, and it’s not like she’ll know the difference.”

  “That’s such a callous thing to say,” sniffed Carla-in-the-middle.

  We could be here all day. I checked my watch.

  Correction: We’d been here all day, and I was getting worried about Adam.

  “May I make a suggestion?” Their heads bobbed in unison. “Your mother was an avid guitarist, am I right?”

  Carla blew her nose. “How’d you know that?”

  I handed her a fresh box of tissues. “Well, she had long nails on her right hand and short nails on her left. And the calluses on her fingertips? Steel strings.” The girls exchanged perplexed glances that slowly gave way to understanding. “So here’s my idea. I know a local woman who can make a custom papier-mâché box using some of your mother’s favorite sheet music. She’s very reasonable, and it would add that personal touch you’re all looking for.”

  They loved the idea, and in my head I was already envisioning what I’d stitch for her viewing: a white-velvet drawstring purse embroidered all around with black music notes. It would be a surprise. We made the final arrangements, and Carla agreed to deliver the sheet music later in the week.

  I escorted them to the door, and as they left I overheard Hailey say, “I’m so glad we went with this mortuary over that other one. Lily’s young, but I feel like she knows Mom, knows what she would have wanted. That’s such a comfort, don’t you think?”

  The others were quick to agree, and I sensed an inner satisfaction like none I’d experienced before. It wasn’t like the dead ever congratulated me on a job well done. In a way I felt as if I’d come home after a long journey full of wrong turns and roads leading nowhere—but I’d arrived too late. My home would soon belong to someone else.

  I finished up the paperwork in the office, made a call to get an estimate on the papier-mâché box, and then ran it all by Rachel, who gave me her stamp of approval—or the equivalent: a freshly baked snickerdoodle. The parlor required a quick vacuum, and then I was bounding up to my room, where I unpinned my name tag from my blouse and set it on the sill beside the potted pansy from Adam. I didn’t take time to change. I would do that later, since I was anxious to get back to him.

  On my way out I passed Rachel and Nana in front of the TV, a bowl of popcorn between them, watching Serpico. Must have been Nana’s turn to pick the flick. “Where’s Evan?” I asked.

  “Taking out the trash,” mumbled Nana through a mouth full of popcorn.

  “Now that’s the perfect Godfather impersonation.” When I asked if I could borrow a car for later that evening, Rachel said Dad was out on the first of two removals. “The van’s at the body shop for repairs, so he had to take the hearse,” she added.

  I’d have to walk to meet Devlin.

  Adam would be starving by now, so I packed a few leftovers, nabbed a carton of chocolate milk I’d kept hidden at the back of the refrigerator just for him, and hustled out into the fading twilight. />
  The cottage was dark. I let myself in and flicked on the light.

  Adam’s bed was empty.

  I checked the pass-through and Nana’s workshop. He was nowhere. I felt a surge of panic until I realized his things were still where he’d left them. So where was he?

  And then I remembered him telling me about a promise to Zmira to trim his front hedges. That had to be it. Idiot! What is he thinking? He’s in no shape for yard work.

  At least he hadn’t left me for good, but the sun was setting. He should have been back by now, and I worried that Zmira had conned him into more chores. Looked like it was up to me to keep Adam from doing himself in.

  My meeting with Devlin was in a little over an hour—assuming he showed. I rushed out the back gate, thinking the alley was the quickest path to Zmira’s, and ran into Evan. “Where you off to?” he asked, slamming down the lid on the garbage can.

  “To stop Adam from digging himself into an early grave.”

  “What?”

  “No time to explain.”

  With an indifferent shrug, Evan went back to the house, locking the gate behind him.

  I’d gone six houses when an engine rumbled to life, its cough and sputter hard to miss. I glanced back and saw an old clunker creeping along. The way it prowled the empty alley reminded me of a certain SUV in a beach parking lot and sent a shiver coursing through me. Had the ex-feds switched cars? If it was them, I needed to warn Adam, but I also couldn’t risk leading them to him in the process.

  The clunker was getting closer. I slipped into the shadows of a nearby dumpster, my heart pounding in my chest. The old heap slowed, stalled, and revved back to life to resume it’s hunt. I leaned against the fence to my back, doing my best to keep out of sight, and felt one of the boards give. I lifted it free, slipped into the yard, and replaced it.

  With my eye to a knothole further along the fence, I watched to see what the car would do, hoping I was imagining things. I wasn’t. The clunker came to a stop beside the dumpster, the engine still coughing like it was on its last piston. I was certain now that I was being followed.

  At last the car rumbled away in a cloud of oily smoke. I didn’t get a good a look at the driver, but a peeling sticker on the rear bumper read RENT-A-WRECK.