Page 12 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

I don’t even know how to ward off zombies. And isn’t that something an adult should know?

CHAPTER 5

Ithought all funeral homes were big, old Victorian houses, but the Mancini Funeral Home is a newer white stone and brick building with white pillars in the front. I drive through a portico to a lot on the side where a few cars are parked.

Stepping out of my car, I zip up my coat, taking in the quiet. There are no chirping birds, wind, or cars, as if the immediate environment knows it needs to be silent here, but as I walk to the door, my thick-soled boots land heavily on the macadam, and I cringe. I make even more noise when I open the creaky door, directly interrupting some kind of service as a dozen heads swivel back to me.

I immediately apologize with my hands up and duck back outside, letting the door slam behind me. My face heats with embarrassment. I don’t know the etiquette for being in a place like this, but it’s obvious I’m breaking it. I shake my head and breathe deeply a few times, suffocated by inexperience and stupidity.

How can I do this for my brother? I don’t even know how to get into the damn building.

The door opens again, and Vince pokes his head out, spotting me before stepping outside, gently closing the door behind him.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, waving frantically.

He stills my hand between both of his. “It’s fine.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought this was another entrance.”

“It’s fine, really,” he says again and lets go of my hand, but I wish he didn’t, needing something to cling to. “Come on, we’ll go through the front door.”

He escorts me around the building, and even with my thick parka on, I feel his hand between my shoulder blades. I reflexively lean into his side as we enter through the double doors beneath the shadow of the pillars, and he ushers me in ahead of him, pointing to the right. “We’ll go to my office in the back.”

The scent of flowers and antiseptic hits my nose as I shuffle through the lobby area, and I dip my chin down, attempting to cover my nose as I breathe through my mouth. Vince turns in time to catch me wincing at the smell.

“You get used to it after a while,” he says, reading my mind, and leads me down a short hallway to what is apparently his office. It’s plain beige with no real decorations besides an old black-and-white photo of three men standing in front of exactly what I imagine a funeral home to look like, a tall, slender home with a porch and thick railing. Creepy, almost. It appears to be from the turn of the last century.

“Have a seat,” Vince says.

I do and gesture to the photo. “That’s what I pictured. Not this.”

“Hmm?” He follows my gaze over his shoulder. “Oh. That’s my great-grandfather and his brothers. It was the first funeral home in town.”

I raise my eyebrow at him for more of an explanation.

“Funerals were always done in people’s houses. The family would take care of the body and host the service right there. It’s where the term funeral parlor comes from. It wasn’t really until the twentieth century that funeral homes, as we know them, became popular.”

I open my mouth to ask him about the family business, but my attention slants to a furry white head that pops up next to Vince on the other side of the desk. I move closer as the dog tilts its head at me, considering me for a few moments before moving so I can fully see it.

“This is Gracie,” Vinces says, running a hand down the dog’s back, her thin tail wagging in response. “She comes to work me with a lot of days.” Gracie twirls as if she knows what he’s saying. “We’re pretty attached.”

I smile at the two of them, and when Vince looks over at me after a few moments, his golden skin flushes like I’ve caught him naked in bed. “Go say hi to Cass. Go on.”

I hold my hand out to the dog, and she slowly walks to me, first sniffing my fingers then my shoes. “She’s pretty,” I say, petting her neck, covered in short hair. “What breed is she?”

He leans back in his chair. “Lab mix, I think. She was a stray. They found her with a litter of nine puppies.”

“Nine babies?” I ask Gracie, eyes wide. “You were busy, huh?”

She rests her head in my lap, and I relax with her weight on me, my anxiety about being here washing away with each of her calm breaths.

Vince watches me for a moment, and I would normally find that kind of blatant staring off-putting, but there is something about Vince in his assessment of me that’s gentle. That always has been.

His eyes aren’t filled with the usual sympathy I’ve experienced lately. It’s something more like interest, as if I’m a painting to be studied and admired. I haven’t showered and am light-years away from feeling beautiful, yet sitting across from Vince makes me want to be worthy of his gaze.

He leans forward, skimming his finger over his cheek a few times. “So, how are you?”

I huff out a depressed laugh. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to answer. Everyone keeps asking me.” I chew on my lip, actually contemplating the question for the first time in days. “I think they’re asking me for themselves. Like they want to know everything is fine so they can go back to normal again.”

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