All the Forever Things

by Jolene Perry

  “What did…What did you get in?” Hartman asks. He gives me a quick look. Licks his lips. Jingles his change. Just when I think he’s going to bolt to the back of the elevator, he steps out and toward Matthew.

  Dad waves from the side, still on the phone, but I pretend not to see. I’m now curious how far Hartman’s curiosity will take him, even though I’m all jumpy inside. Hartman is somebody from the outside world, now inside my life. It’s…I feel like he just stepped inside my head, not the embalming room. Bree is the only friend allowed in both places.

  I see immediately why Matthew called me over to see. The man’s head is caved in on the right side. I can tell by how Matthew is chewing on his lip and waggling his brows at me that he wants me to guess. I step closer, Hartman almost forgotten in my quest to win our little game.

  “Motorcycle?” I whisper as Dad maneuvers the casket against the wall, phone still held to his head.

  “Try again,” Matthew says.

  “Cliff diving?” I ask.

  He shakes his head again. “They’re hoping I can fix him well enough for an open casket, so that’s a call I’m going to have to make in a little bit, because he won’t look…alive unless they want to spend a lot more money.”

  With the way the man’s head is crumpled, and his tissue is damaged, Matthew is right. It would take major reconstruction. I bite my lip. I only have one more guess.

  “Rock climbing?” Hartman asks.

  “Dammit!” Matthew laughs. “The newbie gets it right on guess one! He was free soloing.”

  “Oh-kay!” Dad gestures in large circles with his arms toward the elevator. “Out. Now. Everyone but Matthew, who has a job to do. You two were not supposed to have come down here.”

  “This is science, Dad,” I say.

  “And he was a good one for our list,” Matthew adds.

  “Please, no morbid jokes.” Dad’s mouth curves into a frown. “I’ll start to feel like a bad dad for raising my little girl in the middle of this.”

  “Ew, Dad.” I grimace as we step back into the elevator. “No little-girl stuff. I’m sixteen.”

  “And you’ll be my little girl until you’re thirty. So will your sister.” Dad grabs me in a sideways hug that I shrug out of. “Or forever.”

  I open my mouth to say there’s no such thing as forever, but the last time I did that, Mom and Dad sat down and had this long talk with me about how death is part of life. I nodded and tried to pretend I was taking it all in. But in reality, that’s the stupidest line ever. Death is not part of life. It’s not living. It’s dying. That’s the opposite of death being part of life.

  Hartman pauses at the door of the elevator before stepping inside.

  “Sorry about that,” Dad says. “I’m distracted today. This is probably highly inappropriate. Tell your parents I’m sorry.”

  Hartman shakes his head. “It’s fine. I offered to come down and help, and…” He glances at me. “I was curious, I guess.”

  “We’re so…” Dad shrugs. “I sometimes forget how macabre our job is.”

  The elevator lurches upward.

  Dad doesn’t forget. He’s desensitized like we all are. When he’s in the lobby or the chapel or the viewing room or even the salesroom, he’s so cautious. Once he’s “backstage,” he stops protecting people from the more practical side of what we do.

  “I guess it’s macabre,” Hartman agrees. “But it’s a service everyone needs at some point.”

  “Hopefully not until they’re much older than the two of you.”

  Hartman shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at the wing tips he’s wearing.

  Dad recognizes the signs immediately. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Me too,” Hartman says quietly.

  I fold my arms across my chest because riding in an elevator with an odd guy and my dad isn’t something I thought I’d be facing today. Add in a dash of Matthew’s morbid talk and bringing up Hartman’s dead father, and awkward becomes the understatement of the year. I tighten my arms as the service elevator makes its usual squeaking, jolting protests.

  “So what are you kids up to?” Dad asks.

  “I gotta get home,” Hartman says quickly.

  Huh. So…I’m confused because he was pretty determined to come in, and he played our guessing game, but now he’s taking off. I can’t figure this guy out—not that I need to.

  “He just gave me a ride home,” I say. “That’s all.”

  “What happened to Bree?”

  “Busy with a guy,” I answer.

  “Ah.” Dad nods. “Good thing you’re not allowed to date until I can’t call you my little girl anymore.”

  I rub my hands up the sides of my face. “Geez, Dad. Way to embarrass.”

  “Wait,” Dad says as the elevator stops. He puts his hands on the door, but makes no move to open it. He turns and looks at Hartman and then at me. “You two aren’t dating, are you?”

  “No!” I yell. “Seriously.”

  Hartman shakes his head but doesn’t really look at either of us. There’s probably a lot going on in his brain right now, and I wonder what it is. Or maybe he just gets that our situation in the elevator took a giant leap past awkward.

  I can’t wait to talk to Bree about all this. If she’s not too busy, anyway.

  Although, any talk about Hartman will just encourage her scheme. The elevator jolts to a stop, and I now have sympathy for the lumbering piece of equipment because with the realization that I suddenly have something I’m not sure I’ll share with Bree, I for sure feel jolted.

  Dad slides the door open, but he’s looking at Hartman in a totally different way—with fatherly suspicious eyes, and that puts a fluttery, panicky beast in my body. I need to get Hartman out the door. And then I need to figure how to tell Bree enough so I feel like I’m sharing, but not so much that she’ll keep pushing me and Hartman together.

  “I’ll walk you out.” I reach out to grab Hartman’s arm or hand or wrist or something to make sure he follows me, but then remember Dad’s words about dating and let my arm drop. No need to touch the guy and bring on a round of questions from my parents.

  I once again cross my arms and head up the hallway, through the viewing room, and into the lobby.

  Mom steps out of the back offices. “Did you help Dad bring up Mr. Clancery?”

  I shake my head. “Matthew was down there with the new one, and Hartman helped us take Mrs. Nichols down.”

  Mom gets this really weird expression. “Ah.”

  “So, Hartman’s headed home.”

  “Thank you for letting me drop in,” he says from behind me.

  Mom looks up at him. “Of course.”

  I hold open the front door. At least the rain’s let up a little. Hartman shouldn’t get totally soaked running for his car this time.

  “So…” I say once the door closes behind us. We’re both under the awning, the rain still slapping onto the pavement. “This is my life.”

  He looks back through the door. “It explains a lot.”

  I cock a brow as I take him in again. “What?”

  Hartman chuckles, his heavy mood seemingly gone. “I’m kidding, Gabe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I take a step back. “See you.”

  “Thanks,” he says.

  “For?” I lean my back against the glass door.

  He tucks his hands into his pockets. “Letting me in.”

  He’s acting like I invited him over to hang out or something. My cheeks warm. “It’s a business.”

  “Thanks anyway.”

  “Yep. Polite.” I feel my lips purse together. “Polite guys usually have cool moms. I’d like to meet her.”

  Hartman runs a hand over his curly hair, messing it all up so it sticks out around his head, but under the uncertain gesture is the beginning of a smile that feels like some kind of victory. “Yeah. You know. When we’re settled…yeah…”

  Oh crap. Did I just, like, invite myself to his house? Way to go, me,
for shoving us right back into awkward territory.

  “Well, see ya.” He gives a quick wave before sprinting into the rain.

  I dart back inside before I can say something else stupid. I have to call Bree. Figure out what’s going on with Hartman. And maybe she can help me act like less of a noob.

  “So,” Mom says with a smug smile. “Walk with me and tell me who the cute boy is.”

  What? “What cute boy?”

  She scoffs. “The tall one you just walked outside?”

  “He’s not cute, Mom. He’s tall with weird clothes and weird hair.”

  “Says the girl who purposefully dresses like…you?” Mom laughs a little at her own joke before pulling open the elevator door. “You’re welcome to bring him over anytime.”

  I stay in the hallway. Mom’s probably going down to help Dad with Clancery, and I never got my snack. “Oh.”

  “He’s very polite,” she adds.

  I’m never saying anything about his politeness again.

  “Just so we’re clear,” Dad says as he leaves the viewing room and joins Mom in the elevator. “You and he are not dating.”

  I throw my arms in the air. “No!”

  Tomorrow I’m back to my black clothes, and I’m not getting in Hartman’s car again. He’s not even a safe driver, so whatever.

  “Who did he lose?” Dad asks slowly.

  Mom’s head snaps toward Dad. She immediately frowns.

  “His dad.”

  Dad rubs his forehead. “That’s too bad.”

  Too bad. Yep. One way of saying he got totally screwed out of a parent.

  “Have fun down there.” I give Mom and Dad a too-big smile and wave as they close the elevator door.

  At least no one asked me to pick up Mickey today.

  Now that Hartman’s gone, I send Bree a text. Hartman not only gave me a ride home, but he ended up in the basement. I think we need to talk.

  I wait for her response as I wander through the house.

  And wait.

  And wait.

  And then I toss my phone on my bed and find my snack.

  Chapter 11

  “So.” Bree slides her arm through mine the second I step into the school. “I heard that you got a ride home from Hartman last night.”

  “Yes, I did,” I say flatly. “And I texted you because my parents were all weird about it, and an hour later you texted back to say you’d text me later.” Which she never did.

  “I got home late,” she says. Nothing else.

  “Um…” I squeeze her arm with mine. “You know that’s not good enough, right?”

  I waited up. I mean, I can’t even remember the last time that Bree wasn’t the final person I talked to before dropping off to sleep. And she knows how I am with people who aren’t her. Bree, of all people, should know that I’ll need her help.

  Bree shakes her head. “I’m more interested in you and the new guy.”

  No real explanation for not texting back? Do I just let that slide or call her on it?

  “He drove me home.” I start to tell her about how weird he acted and how he helped Dad and me with a cadaver, but there’s no reason I should reward her with tidbits when she didn’t text me back.

  “So, he ended up in the basement, huh?” She waggles her brows.

  I shrug. “Yeah, but only for a sec. And then he went home.”

  “Did he give you a hug or ask you out or…anything?”

  “Nah.” I try to brush off the whole thing. It’s petty and stupid to not want to share just because she didn’t write me back, but seriously.

  “Are you really not at all interested in him?” she asks. “He’s quirky and kinda cute, and…I don’t know…He might actually be interesting enough for you.”

  “He—” doesn’t like Bryce, so we probably wouldn’t go out together, even if I did like him. But I can’t very well say that to Bree. “He…I think coming here has been a bit of an adjustment for him. You’d know this if you’d had time to text me last night.”

  We stop at my locker, and she leans against the one next to mine. I take a moment and pause. I’m being stupid toward Bree. I do kind of like him. He is interesting. These are things we should be sharing and dissecting. I mean, that’s what we’ve always done. I’m waiting for her to try to dig for more information.

  “So, if you don’t go to prom, I don’t really get it, but whatever. But please, please, please, come to the after-party.”

  Are we really on a new topic already?

  “I’ll think about it.” I can’t imagine hanging out with Bryce all night. I probably really should not have promised a blank slate. And why is she not still asking about Hartman?

  Bree’s arms fly around me as she crushes me against her. “You’re the best! I promise it’ll be amazing!”

  She can’t promise that, but she’s excited about the whole thing, so I’ll think of a really creative way to let her down later. Or, like I often do, I’ll go and it’ll probably be better than I’m thinking. Or so very much worse.

  “So. I’m hanging out with Bryce after school, and then I’m ditching him so we can go to Audrey’s!” Bree beams.

  Tuesday. Right. I’m finally catching a break. Maybe Audrey’s is what we need to slip back into our normal. I need us to be back to normal.

  I spend a few minutes cleaning out my locker at the end of the day because I’m alone. I have no desire to try to navigate the student lot when everyone’s trying to leave at once or watch Bree with Bryce. Once the hallways are mostly clear, I slide the two books I need for homework in my pack and heft it onto my shoulders.

  I’ve done this part of my day without Bree before. I mean, she’s dated guys on and off and been busy, but this feels…different. Usually she drags her guys to our lockers or to our table in the caf or to our meeting spot in the hallway. Or just ditches them in favor of us once school is out.

  I’m not sure that’ll happen with Bryce. He’s the one dragging her off with his friends. But I don’t really want to see him, and she knows this…Gah. I hate that he asked her out. I hate that she said yes. I hate that because of one guy, I’m worried my days won’t be the same. I slam my locker shut and jerk my pack higher on my shoulder. When I get to the top of the stairs, I pause. Slump. Sigh. Lean against the wall. It’s not Bree’s fault. And I’m probably being paranoid anyway. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.

  My feet slide along the sidewalk as I slowly head for home. One foot in front of the other. All that’s waiting for me is maybe work or maybe having to pick up my little sister and take her to Liza’s.

  I cut through the cemetery just to change up my walk a little. There’s a new grave under the oak tree, and I pause for a second. Mrs. Nichols’s name is on the front, and the plot next to hers is empty. I know it belongs to her husband without looking at the books.

  I look at the marker again. It’s nice. Special order. Mr. Nichols must have really planned ahead. Though, my granddad did too. I think we have about fifty family plots in this place—room enough for everyone! At least for a while.

  We’ll fill them up eventually, and maybe by the time we do, people will be doing something more creative with their dead. Maybe the whole earth will fall apart before then. I don’t know.

  I walk from the older part of the cemetery to the newer and stop next to another recent grave. I can always tell because the sod is a little greener than everywhere else.

  BLAKE SMITH.

  “Whoa.” I clap my hand over my mouth.

  Hartman’s dad is buried here?

  I let out a sigh and stare. I’m thinking they didn’t have services here. Or maybe they did, and it just blended into the one before and the one after.

  Beloved Husband and Father.

  Even if he weren’t beloved, it would still probably say that. No one would ever write: Great-Aunt Margie. A wretched hag.

  “You’re everywhere,” Hartman says, and I let out a weird squeaking noise. Once again clapping my hands over my chest. />
  “How did you get here?” I ask.

  “Um…” He glances behind him. “I walked. From the lower parking lot.”

  “Right,” I say. “Just didn’t see you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m…You know…I live there.” I point to what is obviously the back side of my house.

  “Yep,” he says. “Saves on gas for the hearse.”

  I want to laugh. I want to smirk. But I cannot read him. At all. This whole conversation is just…I don’t know what it is. “Uh, yeah…”

  His gaze slips back toward the headstone. “Dad grew up here and my parents met here, so…yeah…that’s why he’s buried here.”

  Hartman steps back, so he’s about a grave away from me. It’s an awkward distance. One that makes me think he really wants his space and that I should probably leave.

  I want to ask him a million questions about things he probably doesn’t want to talk about, but I’m going to be smart and exit before I say or do something stupid. “I should get home.”

  “Yeah.” He slips his hands into his gray coat pockets.

  I want to tell him that I’m sorry. I want to say that I think it would be so hard to shift schools at the end of junior year, or any year, really. I want to tell him I think it’s cool he’s so polite and that he drives his dad’s car and uses his dad’s keys. And ask him where he finds his clothes. I watch Hartman for a minute longer as he continues to half look at me and half look at the grave marker I’m next to. His dad’s grave marker.

  As much as I work in a business that has to provide sympathy, I find it awkward around people I know. The polite distance from a stranger is several person widths, but with a friend? I don’t know where the grief barrier is that I shouldn’t cross. “Well…sorry to take up your time here.”

  He’s blinking again. Staring at the headstone.

  I take a few sideways steps to see if he says something else, but he doesn’t. I start back toward the house and hope Bree is ready for Audrey’s. I need her to help me figure out why I have no idea what to do when Hartman is around.

  Chapter 12