2. Beatrix
2
BEATRIX
ONE MONTH LATER
“ I know how hard this is for you, Miss Williamson, but please trust that Bright Starr Funeral Home will take the utmost care of your brother.” The words that fall from my lips are automatic, nearly scripted. Hopefully she can hear the warmth and sincerity in them despite how easy they come to me. “I will make sure I care for Samuel just as I would if he had been my own brother.”
The older woman sitting on the worn leather couch in Bright Starr’s office sobs into her handkerchief. Her shoulders shake as she does. My teeth clench together as I work down a knot threatening to form in my throat. No matter how many times I say these words, no matter how many clients walk through this business’s doors, it doesn’t seem to get any easier handling someone’s grief. I’m thankful though. It’s times like these that remind me I’m human. This is empathy, and despite the ache it brings, I’m just glad to be feeling something in the first place. Otherwise, the numb, near-catatonic state in which I’ve been walking through life lately would feel endless and the misery would be suffocating.
“I just… I don’t understand. You’re going to burn him? My baby brother?” she manages to gasp out. Her watery gaze meets mine.
“Cremation is a beautiful thing,” I offer with a kind smile. “Rather than set him in the earth, you can always keep a piece of him with you. Or some people mention that it’s a great source of comfort and quite freeing to let the ashes go.”
Sitting beside Miss Williamson, Pastor Michaels leans closer and rubs her back in small, gentle circles. Standing in front of my desk, I lean back, allowing my lower back to rest against the edge. Immediately, I regret the decision. The thick bruise that’s spread across the area screams in protest. But I’ve committed to the move. If I flinch now, I’ll draw unwanted attention to myself. So I accept the pain and reach down to grip the lip of the desk.
“It’s what Samuel wanted, Trudy,” the pastor says, his voice soft and gentle. “We can still hold a service for him.”
My potential client sniffles. “I know… it’s just, I can’t believe he wanted to be cremated . It’s just… It feels wrong.”
“Samuel was smart,” Pastor Michaels points out kindly. “He knew about your finances and didn’t want to be any more of a burden on you. This decision was made from love. Knowing what his medical bills were doing to the family was hard enough on him. Give him this concession, Trudy.”
Trudy Williamson sobs again, bending at the waist to hide her swollen, tear-soaked cheeks. I look away, giving her a moment of privacy.
“Al-alright. I’ll do it. I’ll get him cremated,” Trudy mutters, straightening in her seat. She looks from Pastor Michaels to me. “But I don’t want your mother or Patrick anywhere near his body. Those filthy lowlifes don’t deserve to be near Samuel. I need you to be the one to take care of him. You’re not nearly as wretched as them.”
The venom she directs at Patrick and my mother is well deserved. Unfortunately, the town of Chasm lumps me in with those two. Personally, I don’t believe that’s warranted. But a woman running a business in death is already a difficult field to navigate. The fact that I’ve been helping handle bodies and clients since I was ten is another strike against me. A child interested in death? There has to be something wrong with me.
“Of course, Miss Williamson,” I assure her, holding on to my professionalism.
Pastor Michaels shoots me an apologetic glance before standing up. “You and I both know Beatrix has a good head on her shoulders, Trudy. There’s no one better for this job.”
“If this wasn’t the only funeral home in the area, I would go somewhere else. I guess beggars can’t be choosers,” She grimaces before eyeing me up with a flare of disgust in her gaze.
I’ve never slighted Trudy or any of her family members. In fact, I’ve barely spoken to the woman my whole life. I don’t really know her at all. But, apparently, she feels she knows me well enough to judge me .
I ignore the jab, smile, and straighten. “How about we go look at urns? You can pick out the perfect one for Samuel’s ashes.”
“Fine,” she sighs, resignation ringing from the simple word. “The quicker I can get out of here, the better. I swear it feels like evil is lurking in every shadow.”
Given how it’s felt like my every move has been watched recently, I don’t doubt that there may be a few ghosts about.
“Right,” I smile as I suppress a shiver of unease. “Then let's go.”
Pulling my jacket tighter around me, I stand by the front door of Bright Starr to watch as Pastor Michaels walks Trudy across the small parking lot to her car.
The dull throb between my brows is the start of a headache. Though still in its early stages, I’ll have to grab some medicine later or it could turn into a full migraine. This is what I get for being good at my job. If being able to hold onto a smile and remain polite while listening to someone personally berate your entire existence was an Olympic sport—I might be able to medal in it. But the talent comes with its drawbacks.
Like headaches. Oh, and I can’t forget the self-loathing and loneliness.
All this is my fault though, making it hard to complain. This is what I get for not staying away from my hometown. In a place full of religious zealots, elderly constituents, and bullies that settled down with their high school sweethearts and began making mini bullies, it comes as no surprise that I’ll never get a reprieve from being the town’s pariah. It’s a title no one in my position could avoid. The Starr family has been on the fringes of society for generations thanks to the funeral home they started fifty years ago. No one wants to be close friends with someone who’s as familiar with death as we are. But add that to the fact that I’m child to a mother who’s an addict with a mean streak no one is safe from who marries and divorces deadbeat men like it’s a seasonal requirement, it’s nearly impossible to keep any type of relationship up.
I thought once I turned eighteen and left this place, I’d never have to deal with the people of Chasm again. It was never my intention to take over Bright Starr. But then Mom called me during my freshman year of college and pleaded with me to help her turn everything around here. She promised that, by the time I graduated and came home, she’d be clean and well enough to help me run Bright Starr once more.
Like a fool, I believed her.
My only true friend is currently waving Trudy Williamson off as she pulls out from the parking lot. When her car is out of sight, Pastor Michaels turns and heads toward me.
In his early sixties, Pastor Michaels still looks good for his age. His messy mouse brown hair is just now starting to fade and turn gray. Despite the shallow wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, his skin has remained smooth. He’s of average height and weight, is soft spoken, and carries with him an infinite amount of patience and compassion. I’ve never met anyone as wholly good as this man.
“I might have to add to this weekend’s sermon to remind people about being kind ,” he says ruefully as he comes to a stop in front of me. He shoves his mittened hands into his pockets with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Beatrix. You don’t deserve any of that.”
I hate the sheepish smile he wears. It’s not his fault that most of his parishioners are assholes. I shrug.
“I appreciate you coming to help guide her in the right direction.” I let my arms drop from where they sit across my chest. “I’m glad Samuel was smart enough to put in his will to do the cremation. She really couldn’t afford any other option, and she would’ve tried if he hadn’t.”
“Her pride was what had her dragging her feet more than her faith,” he shakes his head, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Anyway, are you done for the day? I have beef stew in the crockpot at home. You’re more than welcome to join me and Trevor for dinner.”
It takes everything in me not to cringe at the sound of his son’s name. Trevor Michaels, the coolest guy back in high school. He was the quarterback that led our football team to victory in the championship all four years. He’s Chasm’s golden boy—loved by all. According to rumors, Trevor will take over his father’s ministry in just a few short years.
But what only a few people seem to remember is that Trevor’s also the biggest bully in Chasm. How many times had he gotten a class full of students to turn on me throughout my school years? Or shoved me in my locker? Or picked on me for my looks? Too many times. But Trevor wasn’t just the give-you-a-swirly type of bully. Oh no, I was never that lucky. Trevor Michaels was the type of bully who would corner you and force himself on you while his friends watched and laughed… then took their turns with your bruised and beaten body.
Bile creeps up my throat just thinking about him. He never once got in trouble for it. I don’t even think his father knows about the police report I filed just before I left for college when Trevor had, for a second time, gone too far. Even after all these years, I don’t have the heart to tell my only friend what his son did to me.
“Thank you, but not tonight,” I manage to get out evenly. “I think it’s going to be a late one. It’s a full moon, which means I could get as many as seven death calls so I need to be here.”
I can feel his gaze on the back of my neck as he follows me back into the funeral home. My hands twitch at my sides as I fight the urge to wipe at the back of my neck. Everyone is always watching me, as if I might do something horrible like my mother or like I’m some terribly ugly creature from the Black Lagoon.
We stop just inside the foyer. The warmth from the heaters is almost stifling after hanging out in the November chill. Immediately, I peel off my jacket and toss it onto the console table. As I turn to face Pastor Michaels, I catch him looking away from me, his gaze landing on the carpeting.
For a second, I panic. Can he see the bruises on my face? Or my split lip? I’ve done my best to cover up the signs of Patrick’s abuse with a load of makeup, but there’s a chance it’s worn off throughout the day. If it’s not that, maybe he noticed the limp? Had I slipped up and forgotten to hide it?
“I hate that you work such long hours,” he grumbles. “Have you thought about hiring someone to help you around here? I haven’t seen Patrick or Lauren around town in ages. Are they even coming down here to help anymore? Running a business and helping them … When do you get a break, Trixie?”
Oh . Relief releases the tension from my shoulders. Ok, so this is about my general well-being and not something specific. Good.
I shrug. “It is what it is. When I have the finances, then maybe I’ll hire someone. Until then, it’s just me.”
“It’s just so much for one person—oh!” Pastor Michaels snaps his fingers as his eyes brighten with an idea. “I can see if I can get any volunteers from my parishioners!”
At this, I can’t hide my grimace.
“You and I both know that even if you managed to get people to show up here, it would make more work for me than it’s worth.” I soften my objection with a smile. “But thank you for trying.”
My friend sighs. “You’re probably right. I just want to help you, Trixie. You do an important job for the community, and you deal with so much with your mother and Patrick. I feel so helpless watching you juggle it all.”
“I’m fine,” I lie easily. “Really, Pastor Michaels, you don’t have to worry so much. At first it was a lot, but I think I’ve found my footing.”
Pastor Michaels had come around a lot since I returned home. He’d helped me here, and a few times, he even tried to visit Mom when Patrick wasn’t around. Given that he was her pastor for a while during her ‘I found Jesus, he will keep me clean’ phase of her life just before I left, I thought it would help to have her start seeing him again. Unfortunately, that didn’t pan out the way any of us intended. Now Pastor Michaels only comes to the funeral home to see me.
“How is your mother doing?” His head tilts to the side in concern.
Before I can placate him, my cell phone rings. I dig into my pocket to see the hospital’s number on the caller ID.
Saved by the bell…
“Hey, I got to take this, but we’ll talk again soon, ok?”
“Of course, take care, Trixie. If you need anything, you know to just holler,” Pastor Michaels says before turning and heading out.
I don’t watch the door shut. As I pivot to head back to the office, I answer the phone, “This is Bright Starr Funeral Home, Beatrix Starr speaking. How can I help you?”