Page 20 of Dead Love
“How are you?” he asked.
“Fine,” I said automatically, trying to end the conversation.
“Really?” he asked, scratching his jaw. “Tell me something real.”
His eyes were earnest and questioning, and yet, it brought me back to the night before. He could see past my facade. Inside of me. Like my world was crumbling down, and his words were adding to the weight. I was trying so hard to hold myself up. To keep it together.
I huffed out a breath, turning back to the casket. Her expression was serene, more peaceful than I had ever seen in her living life.
“I wonder what it feels like,” I said, my voice full of air and light.
“What?” he asked. He turned toward me.
“This,” I gestured at her body. “She doesn’t feel anything, does she? What does death feel like?”
I reached down and touched her rosy cheek, but her skin was cold, and I yanked back my hand. I crossed my arms, covering my fingers, as if my fingertips burned, like I had broken some kind of barrier.
“Don’t be afraid,” Vincent said.
“I’m not.” But I wasn’t sure if that was the truth.
“People would rather pretend like this doesn’t happen every day,” he said, looking down at her body. “They’re afraid. But pretending like death doesn’t exist never stops it from coming.” His brows drew together. “Trust me. I know.”
I didn’t understand him. He was threatening and venomous. And yet I got the feeling that he wanted to teach me, that he was speaking to me more than he cared to with most people.
But that didn’t change the fact that my mother was going to be livid if she saw me talking to him.
“Why did you come to my bedroom the other night?” I asked. “My mother wouldn’t like to hear about that.”
He tilted his head. A sly grin crossed his lips. “You haven’t told her?”
I raced to the back of the room, my cheeks red. A woman with the sides of her head shaved, the top of her hair in an elegant braid, smiled at me. As someone passed by, she patted their shoulders, handing them a tissue box. A black jacket covered her lace-lined shirt, and her name tag reflected the fluorescent lights.Catie,her tag read,Quiet Meadows Funeral Director.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, as if we had known each other all of our lives.
“I’m fine,” I said, but this time, IknewI was lying. “No. I’m not.” I shook my head. “Yes. I’m fine.” I shrugged, frustrated with myself, trying so hard to be someone who wasn’t affected by any of this. I took a deep breath. “You did a great job.” I motioned toward the casket at the front of the room quickly, then turned back to her. “She looks beautiful.”
“Considering everything that happened, she looks fantastic,” Catie said, a sad smile on her face. I was glad I hadn’t seen her before the embalming. “I’ll let Vincent know you appreciate his work. He always likes to hear that.”
I blinked at her, trying to process.His work?I turned back to the front of the room, expecting to see Vincent still standing in front of the casket, but he was gone.
“Vincent does the embalming?” I asked. “I thought he just owned the place.”
She nodded. “Cremation, gravesites, and yes, embalming. He’s an expert at it, actually. I can’t seem to do makeup on anyone but myself,” she laughed.
That made sense then.I’ll take good care of her,he had said.
Another person approached us, asking for Catie’s help in announcing the reading of the eulogy, and I stood there, pretending to listen, my mind swirling with Vincent. I had been taught to be cautious of everything, including death. But he truly wasn’t afraid of death. I had never met anyone like him.
“There you are!” Shea said. She put an arm around me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You shouldn’t be by yourself.”
I hadn’t been by myself. And yet, I wasn’t sure that I had wanted Vincent’s company either.
Maybe my mother was right. If Vincent treated the dead with more respect than he treated the living, then maybe he could rip me apart.
Still, I had such little experience with anything at all. What would being torn apart feel like? Would it hurt?
Or would I like it?
