by Beth Solheim
"That's not going to change. I'm not going to be given an assistant, either. When the day comes someone else is designated to take over, I'll probably be long gone."
"How are you going to deal with the crossers if we lose the resort?"
"I don't know. I just don't know,” Sadie said. “Why can't you be more like me and quit worrying."
"I don't want to be like you. I don't want people thinking I'm crazy because I talk to imaginary friends."
Glaring at her sister over the rim of her orange frames, Sadie said, “I think somebody messed up at the hospital when we were born."
"Oh not this again,” Jane said. “I'm tall. You're short. Big deal. That doesn't mean we're not twins."
"At least I don't have your fat ass."
"At least I'm not a boobless half-pint. And don't tell me you're not jealous. I know better,” Jane said.
Sadie stood and hurried to the door as Belly let out a high-pitched yelp. One end of the dog wagged frantically while the other end poked through the porch railing and whined at the man behind the Norway pine. A briefcase corner protruded from the edge of the tree.
To the right of the tree, several children in bathing suits jostled for position in front of an ice cream cart. Sadie winced with compassion when a child's chocolate ice cream tumbled from its cone and landed on the ground at the girl's feet. Heat waves rippled up from the pathway. The youngsters licked as fast as they could to catch the drops of melting ice cream before they trickled down their arms. The man peered around the tree at the children.
"I still don't understand why they picked you to take care of the crossers instead of me. I'd be just as good at it as you are.” Jane nodded sharply.
Sadie stuck her little finger in her right ear and screwed it back and forth. “My hearing must be on the blink. I thought you said you'd be as good at it as I am."
"Maybe even better.” Jane's voice caught in her throat. She frowned as three scantily clad teenagers hurried toward the beach. “Good grief,” she said under her breath. Her gaze lingered on their thonged bottoms. “That's disgusting."
Filling a mug with coffee, Sadie placed it on one of Jane's lace doilies and motioned to her sister to return to her chair. “Drink this. Quit dwelling on our problems. Maybe you could call Mr. Bakke to see if he wants to go for a pontoon ride."
Sadie inched her fingers through her black hair. Black, verging on blue, happened to be the color-of-the-week at Big Leon's beauty shop. She picked at the gelled spikes she had created earlier in the day to make sure they were still standing erect. Glancing at her reflection in the window, she turned from side to side, eyeing the new leopard-print shirt the postman had left in her mail box. She made a mental note to order another push-up bra. Maybe one with a little more lift. She wanted to wow them at the Fertile Turtle. That's if she ever found the time to go dancing again.
Jane's hand suddenly splayed across her chest. “Have you told Nan about the lawsuit? If we lose, she could be evicted from the mortuary."
Sadie loved Nan Harren like a daughter. She cared for Aanders like the grandson she wished she had. The feelings were shared. Harren Funeral Home sat at the edge of the resort property next to Cabin 14. Nan and her eleven-year-old son occupied an apartment in the mortuary, originally designed to house mortuary science students. The land lease the Witt sisters held on the mortuary would be worthless if they lost the lawsuit.
Sadie's eyes sparked with anger. “Every time I think about Carl's lies in that lawsuit my head feels like it's going to explode. Carl Swanson is a demented rat. Apparently the money he inherited from his grandfather isn't enough."
Sadie pointed toward the bookshelf. “Did you see this morning's newspaper? That big liar's decided to run for sheriff. If you think Carl's a jerk now, wait till he's elected."
"I saw that. I can't believe he'd do something that stupid. Who would vote for him? Everyone knows he's a donkey's patootie."
Jane drained her coffee cup. “Well? Have you told Nan, or not?"
"Nan's got enough to worry about. She's got three bodies to prep and one of them is Tim. Nan loved Tim. He spent a lot of time with Aanders.” Sadie tapped her ear lobe, setting the dangling beads in motion. “How do I tell a dear friend she might lose everything? I can't do it. What if I tell her and then the judge rules in our favor? The last thing she needs is more stress,” Sadie said.
Justifying the reason she'd postponed the inevitable nagged her to distraction. Even though she knew her sister disagreed, Sadie was willing to wait for the pendulum to swing in favor of providence rather than misfortune.
"Nan's had to live with rejection all her life. Can you imagine what losing the mortuary would do to her?” Sadie turned her ear toward the door as she heard footsteps plink across the wooden porch.
Dread filled Sadie. She glanced through the screen door just in time to see the man in the black suit disappear into the woods.
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3
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Worry and dread caused the hairs on Aanders’ neck to tingle as he stared at the basement door. A mix of curiosity and anticipation had him on the verge of ripping the door off the hinges and bounding down the stairs, but he knew he couldn't. He had made a promise to his mother and was trying desperately to keep it.
Think of something else, he thought clenching his fists. Anything else. Aanders’ foot tapped rapidly against the stool's leg as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Maybe if he let the hateful words the new kid had shouted at him seep back into his mind, it would shove aside his present predicament. Aanders had looked forward to meeting the new guest at the resort, but when he finally did, all the kid did was tease him about living in a mortuary.
Aanders had learned to benefit from his unique surroundings. Not every kid lived in a mortuary. Not every kid was as brave as they pretended. Not every kid dared touch a dead body. For those brave enough to touch the lifeless flesh, Aanders charged a dollar. After all, hadn't his mother encouraged him to be enterprising?
A burst of sizzling grease signaled supper would soon be ready. Eleven-year-old Aanders watched his mother flip three pieces of chicken in the frying pan. He twiddled the salt shaker between his fingers until it tipped over. Sneaking a look at his mother he covered the salt with his hand, edged it off the counter and watched it sprinkle onto the floor. His blond bangs caught on his eyelashes, twitching when he blinked.
"I thought you'd feel better if I cooked your favorite meal,” Nan said, reaching to brush the hair from her son's face.
Aanders appreciated that his mother wanted to lessen his sorrow, but food didn't appeal to him. If he admitted he wasn't hungry, he'd hurt her feelings. She'd worry. She already had enough on her mind without upsetting her more.
His stomach rolled a queasy warning as his gaze fell on the basement door. A whining dog wasn't making the situation any easier. Belly had parked his bulk in front of the basement door and insisted on being given access to the lower level.
"I don't know why you let that dog in here again,” Nan said. “You know I've asked you not to do that."
"I didn't. He must have slipped in under the hearse door. I've seen him do it before."
Even though Belly's physique resembled a cement truck, he had a weasel's knack at sneaking into the mortuary apartment. The dog must have slipped in when he helped his mother transfer the heavy body bags from the hearse. Belly no longer startled Aanders when he appeared out of nowhere. At least not like his father startled him when he showed up uninvited. Belly's visits were welcomed. Not his father's.
Nan coaxed Belly away from the door with her foot. “After you finish eating, take him back to Sadie's cabin. He's going to ruin the paint on that door.” Sidestepping the dog she added, “This is the second time I've found him clawing on the basement door. I don't know what's gotten into him. Usually he just sleeps in front of the fridge."
Belly's mission in life was to consume food. Lots of food. When not occupied with his vocation, Bel
ly sought the luxury of a good snooze. Aanders often woke with Belly occupying more than half his bed and hogging the pillow. The defining property line between the resort and mortuary meant nothing to Belly.
Belly's heritage was a mystery. He had long legs, a stubby nose, a rotund body covered in brown spots, and a cropped-off tail with four elongated hairs growing out of a bald portion of its tip. When Belly wagged his tail, the black hairs flapped in the breeze adding to the dog's odd appearance. Aanders trimmed the black hairs, but they grew back with gusto. The dog also had only one testicle.
Aanders joined his mother as she stared out the kitchen window. They watched a young woman scoop a toddler into her arms after he wandered too close to the water's edge. The child giggled with glee. The lilt of children's voices echoed back and forth across the short span between the resort and the mortuary before it faded away. It was a sound that usually brought smiles to their faces, but not tonight.
Nan put her arm around Aanders’ shoulder and pulled him closer. “We'll make it through this,” she whispered, placing her lips against his temple.
Aanders blinked hard to divert the tears welling in his eyes.
Belly interrupted the silence with a muffled bark, prancing in front of the basement door. Aanders held his finger to his lips. “Be quiet. Mom's already mad at you.” Belly continued to plead by alternating his soulful stare between Aanders and the boy's mother. Aanders slipped his fingers under Belly's collar. He led him to the pantry and opened a box of treats. Belly sniffed the offering. He gulped it down, snorted, then returned to the basement door.
Aspen leaves flitted outside the kitchen window as if mimicking the energy of the resort crowd. Wisps of wood smoke rose from a nearby campfire. Nan let out a deep sigh, focused her attention on the lawn, and peered at a small, riderless tricycle inching its way down the sidewalk. She leaned closer to the window. The vehicle's pedals turned in sync with the rotation of the tires as it crossed the grass and disappeared over a rise.
Nan stood on her tiptoes. She stretched her torso across the sink and peered sharply to the left. “That's odd."
Aanders plopped down onto a stool. He swiveled back and forth, staring at the window.
"I just saw a tricycle going toward the resort all by itself,” Nan said.
"You mean that blue one?” Seeing his mother nod, he said, “I saw it going the other way when you put the pan on the stove."
"Who was riding it?"
"Nobody."
"Who was pushing it?” Nan turned to look at her son.
"Nobody.” Aanders leaned against the back of the stool. “I thought it was the wind."
Nan frowned at the treetops. “It doesn't look that windy."
She placed a piece of chicken on Aanders’ plate. “You've got to get some food in your stomach before you disappear altogether."
"You always tell me to eat more, but it doesn't help.” Aanders leaned his chin on his fist, absentmindedly stabbing his fork into the meat again and again and again.
"You'll appreciate that when you're older.” Nan stood two inches taller than her five-foot-four-inch son. Aanders had inherited her slim build and Scandinavian features. He bore no resemblance to his father's side of the family.
"Sadie called and asked how you were doing,” Nan said. She brushed her thumb across Aanders’ forehead to wipe the hair from his eyelashes. “She's concerned. She knows you lost your best friend."
"I know,” Aanders said. “She and Jane brought cookies over while you were in the embalming room. I don't like it when Jane cries."
"She cries because she's sad for you. We're lucky to have the Witt sisters as friends.” Nan smiled at her son. “Sadie is like the mother I never had. I think she likes to pretend you're her grandson."
"My friends think she really is my grandmother,” Aanders said. “They say my Grandma is weird. It's embarrassing when they talk about Sadie and her imaginary friends."
"Sadie's not weird. She's eccentric. Sadie means well."
"But she dresses weird. Really weird. That only makes things worse. Why can't she dress like a normal old lady?"
"Sadie's unique. I admit she's a bit strange, but she enjoys life. We should all be more like Sadie.” Nan poured milk into a glass and set it near Aanders. “She's concerned about us because I'm raising you on my own."
"Thank goodness,” Aanders said.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing.” Aanders directed his words toward his feet.
"That's not fair, young man. Don't criticize what you don't understand. You know your father has issues."
"I'm glad he doesn't live here anymore."
"Me too. It's hard to believe it's been four years.” Nan's voice trailed off. She lifted her hair from her neck, gathered it in her hand, and slipped a band around it. Her blond bob hung just above her shoulders. The damp air raised havoc with her thick, wavy mane making it impossible to manage.
Nan scooped a pad of soft butter from a dish and spread it over a slice of bread. “Put some chokecherry jelly on this. You've got to eat something.” Her shoulders flexed in rhythm with the tapping of her fingers. “You doing okay?” She reached across the counter and patted her son's hand.
"Yeah.” Aanders swiped the back of his hand across his cheek as a tear formed and fell to the counter. He fought the urge to run toward the basement door.
"I'm sorry, Aanders. I'm so sorry you lost your best friend. If it were in my power to change what happened, I would."
Sobs issued forth as Aanders pushed his stool back and walked toward the basement door. “Why did he have to die, Mom?"
"That's one of those questions I can't answer. Every time I work on someone who died unexpectedly, I ask myself that same question. You'd think a funeral director would be used to it by now, but I'm not."
"He's the only friend I ever had,” Aanders cried, placing his palms on the door and leaning his forehead against the wood. “He liked me and didn't make fun of me like the rest of the kids do."
"You'll have other friends. I know you don't believe that now, but you will make other friends."
"I don't want other friends. I want Tim back. I want my best friend back."
Running her hand across Aanders’ hair and pulling him close, Nan said, “I know you do. I want him back, too. I want his whole family back."
Aanders leaned into his mother's embrace, once more fixing his gaze on the basement door.
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4
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After staring out the screen door with a coffee cup clutched in both hands, Sadie turned and whispered to her sister. “He's back. I don't know where he went yesterday, but he's back. I think he's ready to ask for help.” A hinge creaked in protest when Sadie pushed on the screen door.
The man in the black suit shot a distressed glance at the door and then at the resort guests who scrambled past him on their way to the parking lot. His knuckles paled as his fist gripped the briefcase handle. He shouted at a nearby group of men. When they ignored him, even after a second attempt to get their attention, he stopped. Furrows of confusion crowded his narrow forehead.
"Is there something I can do for you?” Sadie repeated the question when he didn't respond.
The man shielded his eyes to focus on Sadie. He squinted and scanned Sadie from her spiked hair to her polished purple toenails. “I highly doubt it."
"You'll change your mind,” Sadie said under her breath. She sat next to Belly on the top porch step. Keeping his gaze on the man, the dog's hind quarters wriggled in excitement. Sadie coaxed Belly into a sitting position, maneuvering him sideways until he panted in her face. “Oh pew, Belly. Your breath smells like Jane's rear end."
"I heard that,” Mr. Bakke shouted through the screen door. “How do you know what Jane's rear end smells like?"
"Just a wild guess,” Sadie answered. “From the size of it, I bet I'm right.” She pushed Belly's head to the side so she could catch her breath.
Sadie
inhaled deeply over her coffee, pulling in the rich aroma. Caffeine. Her vice. This was the one thing she refused to give up. Actually it was the second. She also refused to miss her weekly appointment at Big Leon's Beauty Shop. What he couldn't do with a curling iron and a bottle of dye.
She watched the man step back onto the paved path. He pulled a key ring from his suit coat pocket. Pressing a button on the remote attached to his key chain, he scanned the cars in the parking lot. He pressed the button again. Failing to hear the honk that signaled a programmed function, he stared back down at the keys.
"Are you sure I can't help you?"
Turning to respond, he said, “Madam, I already answered your question. It would be most unlikely that you could answer any inquiry I might have."
"Suit yourself.” Sadie shook the last few drops of coffee from the mug and stood. “I'll be inside if you need me."
"Are we getting another one?” Mr. Bakke asked, as Sadie let the screen door slam behind her. She set the mug on the table.
"I think so, but he's one stubborn crosser."
Mr. Bakke dipped his hands into the dishwater and wrung out a cloth before wiping the length of the kitchen counter. He wore khaki shorts and a light blue polo shirt featuring a Witt's End Resort emblem. A ghostly-white, seven-inch section of exposed skin stood out boldly between his knee-high stockings and the hem of his shorts. His unusually large feet were clad in brown sandals. Sadie blinked twice to make sure he wasn't wearing snowshoes.
Small-boned and height challenged, his head sported thin wisps of white hair that refused to lay flat against his scalp. Tufts of ear hair sprung from the sides of his head. Were Belly and Mr. Bakke hatched from the same furry egg? Sadie smiled at the prospect.
"I can't believe Jane's letting you do that,” Sadie said, watching Mr. Bakke run the cloth over the counter. “She won't have a purpose if you clean. Why waste your time? You know she'll redo it when you're not looking."
"I'm trying to lighten her load. She's so worried about the law suit she's irrational. This morning she cleared the table and started the dishes before I finished eating."
