Page 3 of Dead Serious with Benefits
Mom,my younger voice echoed in my mind as I stared at his still body.Mom, please, mom! Please get up, please, Mom, please! Wake up, wake up! Mommy!
There was no waking up, though, not for my poor mother who had never hurt a soul in her life, or for this man whose life had been summarized in a couple of dozen pictures. All that was left was a body for people to weep or rage over, memories of hislife and death that would sit with the grieving for years to come. Some would move on, some would even forget him, save for a moment here and there when they looked up from their fixation on their lives and remembered him. Some might hurt for the remainder of their lives, aching at his absence, but most would learn to live with that hurt and perhaps make a friend of it, and others would never escape it, never make peace with it, never move on.
But there would be no waking up.
No, he did not look asleep, but there was no more pain or suffering, just as there was no hope or joy. The dead did not know happiness, but they did not know sorrow either. They were done with life, entering a void or perhaps something more. No one knew because the dead did not speak.
I bent over, laying my hand over his heart, and murmured the only prayer I had ever spoken in the presence of a body. “May you know the peace in death you were never allowed in life.”
Because no matter how bright and wonderful life was, there was no life without suffering. The two went hand in hand. Even if his life had been a joy unlike so many people’s, there were still things he had suffered, wounds that never healed, and worries he had been unable to avoid. Now those things, along with the memories, were gone.
With that done, I stepped back from the casket and made my way to the double doors. The bathroom down the hallway was empty, and I stepped up to one of the sinks. Like our latest ‘guest,’ I was a former towhead turned dark, though unlike him, my hair was jet black. I kept it neat, nearly shorn on the sides and a little longer on the top. Green eyes were framed by a thin face and a clean-shaven jaw. On the job, I used a thin layer of makeup to cover the dark circles that hung under my eyes, which were deep-set enough to give the appearance of sleeplessness.
I took a moment to check my phone and saw a couple of texts, one from one of my brothers and another from my adopted mom. I scanned them to make sure there was no emergency before tucking my phone away. I’d deal with them later and perhaps drop by the hotel where I’d been raised from the age of ten, owned by my adopted parents. It had been a few days, which was long enough as far as I was concerned, and if I didn’t show up, they would eventually start worrying.
I tightened the buttons of my cuffs and collar so my clothes didn’t slide around. Otherwise, my outfit was clean and unwrinkled, the suit was expensive but without ego, and my hair was neat without being stiff. In short, I appeared professional and respectful, but without airs or coldness. Precisely the sort of person I needed to be to speak with the grieving, hold their hands, and hear their stories.
Which was good, because I could hear voices coming from the foyer, which meant it was time for the storm to come rolling in.
The vast lobbyof the family hotel could not have been more different from the funeral home. It was the middle of summer, and tourist season was in full force, dragging people from all over the country to Cresson Point. It was a metropolitan city, not as large or flashy as Chicago, Miami, or New York City, but a city all the same, so it had plenty to see and experience.
“Excuse me,” I said softly as I stepped around a woman doing her best to control what I assumed was her son. Clearly, the boy disagreed, if his loud protests and fight to get out of his mother’s grip were any indication. No doubt if freed, he would run through the lobby, free-spirited and wild, not caring whatkind of fool he made of himself or his parents. The thought made me smile and think of a few of my siblings.
The living ones and the dead one.
Smiling at her when she shot me a look of apology, I turned my attention back to the lobby and watched the multitude of unfamiliar faces. I had spent the last half of my childhood in the hotel, yet it wasn’t the oddest place I had lived, but would forever remain the best. At first, it had been strange, having a room in what had been part of the original building, blocked off from the public and staff. Not just that, but because part of that time had been spent in public areas. Some kids grew up in neighborhoods with adults or other kids, but here, I had known tourists and businesspeople from around the world.
I spotted a familiar figure and stood to the side as Moira talked with a guest. From what I could hear, he was furious about a bedbug in his bed and waved his phone in her face so erratically I’d be surprised if she could even make out what he was showing her. The clouds in Moira’s eyes told me the guest wasn’t just angry; he had been belligerent and rude.
The guest wouldn’t, but those who did know my adopted sister knew that was a dangerous combination, especially if the man had been hostile toward one of Moira’s employees. In all fairness, I was surprised her twin brother, Mason, wasn’t around to watch the show. He had always said he loved the moments leading up to her putting her foot down because she got a ‘little twitch in her temple.’ He didn’t mean literally, but if you watched, you could see her temper grow and her patience fade to dust.
“Sir,” she began again, and he cut her off. If the flash in her eyes was any indication, that was not the first, second, third, fourth, or even fifth time he had done it. The customer service facade dropped as she thrust her chin forward, rearing up to her admirable height, she spoke in a far sharper tone. “Sir, that is abeetle, do you hear me? Abeetle. Not a bedbug, a beetle. We’re at the height of summer, and bugs of a million varieties get into buildings, including this hotel, and yes, into your room. Now maybe, justmaybeI would have been willing to ignore what is either your idiocy or your paper-thin attempt to get a discount, but that chance was stabbed in its sleep the moment you decided to be an ass to one of my employees and then proceeded to treat me like an incompetent idiot.”
The man stopped, his phone drooping, and he began to rally his anger again, going even redder than before. “This is how you talk to a paying guest?”
“This is how I’m choosing to speak to a belligerent ass who thinks bluster and aggression are a good substitute for actual guile and wit,” she threw back at him. “So you’re going back to your room, toss the beetle into the trash, and enjoy the rest of your stay. Or you can leave and find somewhere else to stay.”
“I have never had such poor treatment in my life!”
“With your charming personality, I find that hard to believe. Pick one, sir. I have other things to do today.”
“Fine, we’re leaving, and if you think we’ll be paying, then you’re insane.”
“I’m many things, but it is currently eight, almost nine at night. By hotel policy, you’ll pay for this night whether you stay or check out.”
“I willnotbe paying, and this kind of shit is exactly what makes you lose business.”
“Sir, I’ve been working here for a long time, dealing with people like you. With that in mind, look around and see how badly our business has been. Now, are you leaving tonight or will you wait till the morning?”
“We’re leaving! And we arenotpaying,” he snarled, getting closer to her.
I took a step forward, but she glanced to her left, and I relaxed. Sitting at a nearby table was her twelve-year-old son, Micah, but more relevant, sitting across from him, her former boyfriend and Micah’s father, Jace. Sitting next to him was our adopted brother, Dominic. Both men were large in height and muscle mass. And where Dominic was laid-back and prone to a joke, Jace was easily angered and bad-tempered. Yet they were extremely protective of what they considered theirs. They were more than capable of violence, with Jace being a cop and Dominic doing quite well in professional MMA fighting.
Moira looked back, putting the tips of her fingers on the guest’s chest and pushing him back. “Sir, if you get closer, I will take it as a threat. I’m capable of handling myself if that’s the case. If I’m not, I have two rather large men sitting right there willing to make up for it.”
Jace looked up at her words, while Dom had been watching from the moment the man’s voice had been raised. Jace scowled. “Do I need to get up?”
“A good question,” Moira wondered.
