look that scary,” he
observes, his quiet voice loud in the silence.
I whirl around, my heart pounding. “Sorry,” he says quickly, holding up a
hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right,” I tell him. “I just
wasn’t expecting to hear a voice.”
He nods, his lip twitching. “Yeah, I
guess that would be a bad thing in here usually.”
I nod, still willing my heart to slow
down as I grab the supplies I need.
Dare turns in a slow circle, eyeing the
wall of coolers, the metal tables in the middle with the run-off trays, the
sterile walls, the medicinal smell.
“This room is creepy,” he announces,
focusing in on the run-off trays. “I don’t see how your dad can do what he does.”
“I don’t either,” I agree, as I pull him
from the room. “I hate being in
here. The last time I was down here was when they wheeled my mom in.”
She’d been in a bag, completely covered
by black canvas. I thought she
needed me with her, to hold her hand, so she wouldn’t be alone. But I’d only lasted until the zipper
reached her chest, and I saw her yellow shirt turned red with blood. Then I was out of here like a shot.
I poke a long swab of iodine at his
knuckles, and Dare doesn’t even flinch. “Surely your dad didn’t… your mom…” his voice trails off as he realizes
how sensitive that subject is.
I swallow hard. “He did, actually. I have no idea how. But he said he couldn’t trust anyone
else to take care of her. I don’t
know why he bothered. The casket was closed, anyway.”
My chest clenches up, and I dab, dab, dab
at Dare’s cuts and then wrap his hands with gauze and tape.
He looks into my eyes, a long, slow
look. “I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me to ask. I’m not
usually so clumsy with words.”
I shake my head. “It’s ok.”
He examines my hands, moving deftly to
bandage his. “I’m not going to ask
how you learned to do this so well.”
I can’t help but smile. “Smart. Although I have to say, it’s nice to
work on someone living.”
I snort when Dare does a double-take . “Kidding. I don’t work on the bodies. Ever.”
He exhales and I laugh, and then put the
supplies away. When I turn
back around, Dare is trailing a finger down one stainless steel cooler door.
“Are there any…
I mean, is anyone in here?” He
doesn’t even sound nervous.
I nod. “Yeah. I think there’s one.”
Dare raises an eyebrow. “And it seriously
doesn’t bother you to sleep in the same house?”
I shrug. “I’ve never known anything
different. My father has been a
mortician my whole life. I used to
get made fun of in school. Funeral Home Girl. That’s what they called me.”
I don’t know why I said that, and
apparently Dare doesn’t either because he studies me now.
“Why would they do that? It’s not like you chose your father’s
profession.”
“I know. Who knows why kids do what they do? They can be cruel. But I lived. And Finn did too. They used to tease him for being crazy.”
Dare’s eyes are dark as he looks into
mine. “So you were basically all
each other had growing up,” he says slowly. “No wonder you’re close.”
I nod. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
“So that’s why you were upset the other
night on the beach. Because you
don’t want to be separated from Finn.” Dare’s voice is so calm, so slow and so steady. I nod, sucked into the vortex of that
comfort.
“Yeah.”
He nods. “I can understand that. What’s wrong with your brother? You said he’s…”
“Crazy,” I interject. “I shouldn’t call
him that. He’s not. He’s just got a
mental issue. He’s medicated
though.”
I hear the condensation in my voice and
cringe. My brother is more than , not less than.
“He’s harmless,” I add. “Trust me.”
“I do,” Dare answers, his eyes
gleaming.
observes, his quiet voice loud in the silence.
I whirl around, my heart pounding. “Sorry,” he says quickly, holding up a
hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s all right,” I tell him. “I just
wasn’t expecting to hear a voice.”
He nods, his lip twitching. “Yeah, I
guess that would be a bad thing in here usually.”
I nod, still willing my heart to slow
down as I grab the supplies I need.
Dare turns in a slow circle, eyeing the
wall of coolers, the metal tables in the middle with the run-off trays, the
sterile walls, the medicinal smell.
“This room is creepy,” he announces,
focusing in on the run-off trays. “I don’t see how your dad can do what he does.”
“I don’t either,” I agree, as I pull him
from the room. “I hate being in
here. The last time I was down here was when they wheeled my mom in.”
She’d been in a bag, completely covered
by black canvas. I thought she
needed me with her, to hold her hand, so she wouldn’t be alone. But I’d only lasted until the zipper
reached her chest, and I saw her yellow shirt turned red with blood. Then I was out of here like a shot.
I poke a long swab of iodine at his
knuckles, and Dare doesn’t even flinch. “Surely your dad didn’t… your mom…” his voice trails off as he realizes
how sensitive that subject is.
I swallow hard. “He did, actually. I have no idea how. But he said he couldn’t trust anyone
else to take care of her. I don’t
know why he bothered. The casket was closed, anyway.”
My chest clenches up, and I dab, dab, dab
at Dare’s cuts and then wrap his hands with gauze and tape.
He looks into my eyes, a long, slow
look. “I’m sorry. It was thoughtless of me to ask. I’m not
usually so clumsy with words.”
I shake my head. “It’s ok.”
He examines my hands, moving deftly to
bandage his. “I’m not going to ask
how you learned to do this so well.”
I can’t help but smile. “Smart. Although I have to say, it’s nice to
work on someone living.”
I snort when Dare does a double-take . “Kidding. I don’t work on the bodies. Ever.”
He exhales and I laugh, and then put the
supplies away. When I turn
back around, Dare is trailing a finger down one stainless steel cooler door.
“Are there any…
I mean, is anyone in here?” He
doesn’t even sound nervous.
I nod. “Yeah. I think there’s one.”
Dare raises an eyebrow. “And it seriously
doesn’t bother you to sleep in the same house?”
I shrug. “I’ve never known anything
different. My father has been a
mortician my whole life. I used to
get made fun of in school. Funeral Home Girl. That’s what they called me.”
I don’t know why I said that, and
apparently Dare doesn’t either because he studies me now.
“Why would they do that? It’s not like you chose your father’s
profession.”
“I know. Who knows why kids do what they do? They can be cruel. But I lived. And Finn did too. They used to tease him for being crazy.”
Dare’s eyes are dark as he looks into
mine. “So you were basically all
each other had growing up,” he says slowly. “No wonder you’re close.”
I nod. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”
“So that’s why you were upset the other
night on the beach. Because you
don’t want to be separated from Finn.” Dare’s voice is so calm, so slow and so steady. I nod, sucked into the vortex of that
comfort.
“Yeah.”
He nods. “I can understand that. What’s wrong with your brother? You said he’s…”
“Crazy,” I interject. “I shouldn’t call
him that. He’s not. He’s just got a
mental issue. He’s medicated
though.”
I hear the condensation in my voice and
cringe. My brother is more than , not less than.
“He’s harmless,” I add. “Trust me.”
“I do,” Dare answers, his eyes
gleaming.
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