The Morbid and Sultry Tales of Genevieve Clare

by Hartnett, J. B.

  THE MORBID AND SULTRY

  TALES OF GENEVIEVE CLARE

  Copyright © 2014 J.B. Hartnett

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  This is a work of fictions. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Formatted by Max Effect

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Acknowledgements

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

  I listened to the pastor intone those familiar words I knew from TV and movies. Hearing them in person seemed almost comical. Though there was absolutely nothing to laugh about. The crowd was huge, and I was pretty sure the entire population of Greer’s Rest had shown up. I shouldn’t have expected anything different. My parents and my grandmother had been well-liked. Dad ran the real estate office in town, and mom volunteered for anything and everything. The three matching coffins all sat side-by-side. It was my decision to do it that way, mostly because I couldn’t bear to do this three times. Once was proving to be bad enough.

  In the last five days, I had filled out form after form, trying not to break down. I just had to get through the funeral and the wake, then I could cry all I wanted, all I needed. I had more casseroles, flowers, and gift baskets than I knew what to do with. My best friend, Rocky, had been with me since the day of the accident. It was like she had me on suicide watch. If I spent too long in the bath, she’d knock on the door.

  “Gen, I’m thinking pizza and hot fudge sundaes. Sound good?”

  I was grateful for her vigilance because, quite honestly, I felt lost. My entire family had just been taken from me. There was no one else—no cousins, no distant relatives, no one but me. I tried to go to work on Tuesday. I thought it would be a good distraction, and, obviously, Dad wasn’t going to be in the office that day. Someone had to tell his customers, someone had to answer the phones. Rocky brought coffee and doughnuts, and the phone did ring. A lot. I tried to answer it, I really did, but for some reason, I wasn’t able to speak.

  The morning of the funeral, a group of women from the church and the rotary club descended upon my house at Eden Hills. It took me a moment to realize it was mine now. They tried to be quiet, but when you’d spent your whole life in the same big house, you knew when someone flushed the toilet downstairs, or when they hit that third step that always creaked. The pipes made a gunk sound when someone used the laundry faucet. I knew they were busy, cleaning and preparing everything for the onslaught later that afternoon. My job, according to Rocky and her mom, Guava, was to take my time, holler if I needed anything, and get ready for the long day ahead.

  Two days prior, I had nothing to wear. I couldn’t very well wear Chuck’s, jeans, and a navy blue pea-coat to a funeral. I had zero interest in shopping. That meant a trip into Santa Rosa to go to the mall. People constantly asked me if there was anything I needed, anything at all, because they would be happy to get it for me.

  But all I wanted was my family back.

  I remembered my dad telling me about the day of his father’s memorial service. Unlike Mom, Dad and Gran, my grandfather was cremated and his ashes were scattered in the river by our house. Dad had been only a kid at the time, but he remembered that, out of all the people there, he found himself looking at his mother thinking she was the classiest, most beautiful woman he’d ever seen…until he met mom. He told the story on holidays after a few glasses of Scotch. He’d turn to my Granny Clare and say, “I wish Dad was here.” Then he would tell me the story of that sad day, and Gran always had to add, “And don’t forget my hat and gloves. Jackie wore a hat and gloves, and she was a true lady.” She’d smile at me and explain, “A lady never goes out without her hat and gloves. Pity they went out of fashion, because, in my opinion, it’s always a hat day.”

  Gran had only recently moved into The Elms Assisted Living. She and my parents had actually fought about it until Gran stopped talking. Granny Clare gave them the silent treatment for three days, and I was elected to go and “talk some sense into her.” She finally confided in me, “No one asks what I want, Genevieve.”

  “What do you want, Gran?” I treaded carefully, not wanting to rock the boat of familial peace and harmony any more than it already had been.

  “I don’t want my son and daughter-in-law to have to change my diapers when I can’t get out of bed anymore. I don’t want them to bathe me and dress me like a child. I’m still able-bodied, but for how long? I know they mean well. I know they want me to spend my final days in this house, surrounded by my family, but what if I live to be a hundred and five?”

  I couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped me.

  “Well, it could happen!” she declared firmly. “If I go now, I can make friends there. I can go on outings with the other old folks.”

  Not long after, my parents reluctantly moved Gran to The Elms. She had her own little apartment. Three meals were served each day in a big room downstairs where she chatted with friends, some old and some new. Weekly activities that included day trips to wineries or down to San Francisco were a huge draw, and Gran never missed them.

  Gran had only been at The Elms for a few months, so many of her personal belongings were still at our house. Two days before the funeral, I went into her bedroom and straight to the back of her closet. I checked to make sure all the items were still safely where I remembered, then took them downstairs to Rocky.

  “I found something to wear. I’m sure it’ll fit, but it needs to be dry-cleaned. I just need shoes, size eight, to go with the whole…” I waved my hand down the garment bag, “ensemble. Can you take care of that for me?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” She hugged me tight while I kept a box balanced in one hand and the garment bag dangling off a finger in the other. I spent the next two days waiting.

  Finally, Friday morning, it was time.

  I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled on one back-seamed stocking, then the other, hooking them to the garter belt like I’d done it a million times. In reality, I’d only done it once before. I righted my black pencil skirt and fastened the three buttons of the matching tailored jacket. My shoulder length, auburn hair had been expertly curled by Guava.
It was almost a shame to cover it up. But the little, black pillbox hat with a birdcage veil was the perfect accessory, and it had belonged to my Granny Clare. I wore my mother’s pearl choker and earrings, given to her by my dad on their tenth wedding anniversary. I hid my pale brown eyes that were bloodshot behind dark sunglasses. Finally, I pulled both gloves on and pushed the thin leather between my fingers.

  The church service had gone quickly and back at the cemetery, I was seated alone. One chair had been placed beside me for Rocky, my “support person”. But I would have liked Guava on the other side, too. She and my mom had been close friends, but I had yet to see her let loose with the water-works. I knew she was staying strong for me; everyone was. I could have run up to the house for another chair, or asked someone else to, but I didn’t. I sat and watched as the three people I loved most in the world were lowered into the ground.

  I didn’t speak at the church or the funeral. I was saving my words for my loved ones. I had every faith we’d see each other again one day. For now, I only had to walk the twenty feet from my front door to the cemetery to have a chat.

  There was food and booze everywhere. I suppose with a last name like “Clare” people just assumed there would be a wake. I listened as the mourners gave their well-rehearsed condolences and comments, shaking their heads as they said, “That intersection is so dangerous.” The worst was when there were no words because, really, what in the hell were they supposed to say? So I returned their sympathy with a heartfelt thank you and told them I knew my family would have appreciated all their support.

  But right now, I needed a break from everything and everyone.

  I went upstairs to the first door on the right—the master bedroom—my parents’ bedroom. I sat on the floor, back against the wall with my legs outstretched until I heard a man’s voice say, “Hey.”

  Ahren Finnegan.

  I’d known him since I was eight years old, when my dad had hired his dad to be the groundskeeper for Eden Hills. I’d also been desperately in love with him ever since. He was four-and-a-half years older than me. I hadn’t seen him in almost four years. I knew the night I’d tried to wow him with my retro get-up—the reason for owning a garter belt—that he would never see me as anything other than the little girl that lived next to the cemetery.

  “How’re you holding up?” He slid down the wall next to me and handed me a beer.

  “I’ve had better days.” I took a long, satisfying drink and stared at the wall in front of me.

  “Yeah,” was his simple reply. “My dad is downstairs. He said this wake sucks.” I could hear that he was smiling.

  I took another swig. “Well, I didn’t plan this shindig, but the next funeral I host, I’ll make sure it’s a rager.”

  “Gen—” he started, but I cut him off.

  “You know what’s been the worst part of this week?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond. “I’ve been all alone. I mean, Rocky’s been wonderful, and Guava and everyone, really.” I turned to him with my hand on his arm. “Oh, tell your dad, thanks for the brownies. Brewster’s is always a good choice.”

  “I’ll tell him, but Gen…”

  “I was sitting there, Rocky next to me, and thought, I have no family left. That’s it. The line ends with me. No cousins twice removed. No one. And then I thought, who’s gonna come to my funeral? I suppose I might have a friend or two, but what if I outlive them?”

  His hand suddenly on my knee stopped me from talking. “Gen, in what, sixty years or hopefully more, your kids and grandkids will be at your funeral. It’ll be an even bigger crowd than today; I guarantee.”

  “I’m not having a family, and I don’t want to live that long,” I said firmly with the bottle an inch from my lips. I was determined to up my liquid courage before I went back downstairs. “You know, I’ve been thinking though, I could have used someone with me today, totally removed from the situation. It’s a small town and everyone from the pastor to the funeral home to the florist knew my parents and gran. There was no one there for just me. So, I think I should start a business as a professional mourner. I can wear this exact outfit. There are all these single, old people at The Elms who have no one. Gran told me how sad it was that some of them had outlived their husbands and kids, or didn’t even have husbands and kids. They could hire me to attend their funerals.” As I watched the people at the church, the cemetery and the house, dabbing their eyes, I was miles away, brainstorming on possible business ventures.

  “You always were a little…dark.” He hesitated with a grin. Damn, even more good-looking than I remembered. Eyes that were brown with little amber specks around the iris. Thick brown hair I wanted to grab onto and go for a pony ride. And a body that promised he was no pony, but more like a stallion.

  “I’m not dark,” I countered.

  I was dark though. I’d gone around the house and covered all the mirrors and family photos with black cloth, not because we were Jewish—we were Presbyterian. I just liked the idea of it. And now, I was about to get a whole lot darker.

  He then reminded me, “When the cemetery flooded after that big storm when you were, what, ten?” I was actually eleven. “You were right there, with big eyes, checking out the bones floating around, asking if you could keep one.”

  I did. I wanted a skull, for no other reason than I thought it was cool.

  “How did you remember how old I was? You’re only off by a year.”

  He studied me a moment, and I noticed he only had a few more sips left in his bottle. “I’m good with details like that. But I remembered because I wanted a bone, too. My dad said it was disrespectful. I didn’t get it then, but I get it now, of course.”

  There were so many things either of us could have said. But I asked, “Are you afraid to die?” The question had been on my mind all week long. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you discussed around the dinner table. I’d had plenty of hours to think about my own mortality and was decidedly ambivalent about the fact I was one day going to die.

  Ahren looked at the creamy-colored wall across from us in the hallway. “See? Told you. You’re dark. In answer to your question, I don’t want to be in pain,” he answered honestly. And bravely, I thought, because there was no doubt my dad had suffered horrific pain in that crash. And I knew for a fact he had watched his own mother deteriorate from cancer. “What about you?” His beautiful, brown eyes turned to me and waited for my response.

  “It’s going to happen whether I want it to or not.” I took another sip of my beer and felt it slosh upward, telling me it was almost gone. “Would you like another beer? Granny Clare would be horrified if I didn’t offer you one.”

  “Gen?” he asked, his hand still on my knee.

  “Yep?” I replied.

  “Have you gone in their room yet?” He asked me the question gently even though he already knew the answer. It was like he was prompting my tears to start, giving my head and my heart permission to let go, that he would make it all okay.

  I could feel the cool air from the bottom of their closed door. I wasn’t ready to go in. Gran’s room was different; she’d been gone from the house for months. But they were never coming home again. Someone else had picked out their funeral clothes. No one asked for my input, and I was thankful for it.

  Now, I felt pain. Unbelievable, searing pain I’d never before felt in my life. Heartache, unbearable.

  He stood up and reached for my hand. “You don’t need to go back down there. Go up to your room. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “But I—”

  He pulled me to my feet and squeezed my hand. His thick hair had grown past his ears, and I was dying to touch it, to push it away from his soulful eyes. “Five minutes, baby.”

  I got to my feet and made my way to my room. Not because he told me to, not because I wanted to…because he called me “Baby.”

  Ahren had probably come back in five minutes, but I was out cold the minute my head hit pillows. When I woke, it was dark outside,
and Ahren was lying beside me, reading a book, The Stones playing softly in the background.

  “What’re you reading?” I asked.

  “Hey,” he responded.

  “What’re you reading?” I asked again.

  “It’s…” He smirked.

  “Oh my God, is it porn?” My eyes wide with faux shock, I asked this question to remind him of the time when he and his cousin were caught looking at a dirty magazine in my cemetery.

  He laughed, full, beautiful and warm, and that feeling filled my entire body with something I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  “It’s not porn. I don’t make it a habit to carry porn as reading material when I’m going to comfort a friend in her hour of need.”

  “But you didn’t know you were staying here…did you?” I asked with a small smile. He, however, didn’t smile so I asked again, “Did you?”

  He took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. It was the most intimate he’d been with me in years. “I was prepared to comfort my friend in her hour of need, Gen.”

  My “friend,” as he put it, had gone to college in San Jose. He sent me regular emails and, at first, I diligently responded to every single one. After trying to seduce him on my twenty-first birthday, I finally gave up on my childhood crush. Ahren had brought his girlfriend, Sammy. She was pretty, blonde hair, almost as tall as him. Rocky called her the Amazonian. I thought she looked a lot like Cameron Diaz and that meant she was my polar opposite. Either way, it was clear that Ahren was unavailable and light years out of my league. Now, almost four years later, he was at my side like not a day had gone by.

  I didn’t ask him if everyone was gone; I assumed as much. I wanted to know one thing though. “Why are you here, Ahren?”

  He closed his book, and I noticed the cover.

  “Stiff?” I asked.

  The cover had a foot with a toe tag on it. He smirked as he answered, “This woman researched all the things you can do with your body when you die.”

  “And you think I’m morbid?” I grinned.

  “I think you’ll want to borrow it when I’m done.” He smiled.