Chapter 2 Zoey
ZOEY
Aquick glance at the worn clock on the wall tells me I don’t have much time before Mrs. Johnson arrives.
Rest In Peace Mortuary received the call an hour ago about the elderly woman’s passing, and Victor, our body removal technician, is picking her up from the hospital where she died.
Normally, I’d go with him, but I had to stay behind to finish the cremation of Mr. Benz.
I’ve been working in some form or fashion at the mortuary since I was a teenager, and I have the man currently in the cremation chamber to thank for it.
“Zoey, can you please stay after class?”
I nod, unable to make eye contact with Mr. Benz, my eleventh-grade Anatomy and Physiology teacher. The low murmurs of ‘Dead Zone Zoey’ from my classmates don’t bother me like they once used to, but they make me the center of attention, and I hate that.
“Class, that’s enough,” Mr. Benz snaps. “Unless, of course, the rest of you want to spend your Saturday morning in detention.”
The teasing stops, and I finally lift my head with a slight grin.
Mr. Benz smiles as he walks around his desk, picking up a stack of papers as he goes.
Without another word, he passes out the graded papers we were required to write following the pig heart dissection conducted in class a few weeks ago.
When he sets my report on my desk, the red ‘99/100 - A’ at the top stands out. I was worried about this report because it counts for twenty percent of our entire grade.
“Very good work,” he says kindly.
“Thank you.”
The rest of the class passes quickly, anticipation of what he wants to see me about foremost in my thoughts. As soon as the bell rings, students rush out of the room, and I remain seated at my desk. Mr. Benz cleans off the whiteboard, and once we’re alone, he turns to face me.
“Zoey, I’ve been very impressed with your work in my class,” he begins, but there’s a hint of hesitation in his tone. “But I’m also a little concerned.”
My brows furrow. “Concerned?”
I fully expect him to ask me about what it’s like at home, as that’s been a question I’ve gotten over the years, so I’m surprised when he says, “Yes.” Mr. Benz sits on the desk next to me and crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m concerned that you’re not being challenged enough.”
It was that conversation that led me to where I am now. Mr. Benz connected me with his in-laws, who owned and operated Rest in Peace Mortuary, and the rest is history.
At first, I did menial tasks such as cleaning or printing off copies of funeral bulletins for services. Once I finished my Mortuary Science degree, I did my apprenticeship here, and as soon as that was complete, I was hired on as a permanent member of the team. Now, I do it all.
At twenty-seven, I’m the funeral director and resident mortician. Not a week goes by where we aren’t having a service, and more often than not, we have several. The fact that we’re located in the heart of Chicago means there’s never a shortage of death.
“Earth to Zoey.”
I spin around with a gasp and glare at Victor, who’s standing in the doorway. “What the fuck?” I snap.
“Sorry. You were off in your own little world.” Victor shrugs as he strides toward me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” I take a few deep breaths, shoving any thoughts of my past into the dark corners of my memory. “Any issues getting the body?”
“No. Mrs. Johnson is still in the van,” he says. “Wanted to make sure you were ready for her before I brought her in.”
I shift my attention back to the cremation chamber. “Go ahead and put her in one of the coolers. I’m gonna finish up here and then take a quick break to grab a bite to eat.”
“You got it.”
He leaves to do as instructed, and I refocus on Mr. Benz.
As soon as the cremation and cooling process is complete, I go through the motions of putting the cremains into the urn Mrs. Benz selected.
The funeral service is tomorrow, so I pull everything together that is necessary for it before taking a much-needed break.
As soon as I’m in my office, I grab a water from my mini fridge and an unopened bag of Doritos from the basket of snacks I keep on top of it. Just as I shove a chip into my mouth, the phone on my desk rings. I quickly chew and swallow so I can answer it.
“Rest in Peace Mortuary, how can I help you?”
“Zoey?”
Every muscle in my body tenses at the sound of my mother’s voice. “Hi, Mom.”
“I’ve been calling you for hours,” she says with a bite in her tone. “Why the hell are you ignoring me?”
Heaving a sigh, I lean back in my office chair. “I’m at work, and I’ve told you a thousand times that I don’t keep my cell on me if I’m doing a cremation.”
“I don’t know why you had to go into that disgusting business,” Mom complains.
An argument is on the tip of my tongue, but I refuse to let it slip free. She’s never understood me, never cared to understand me. “Did you want something?”
I can practically hear her eyes rolling through the line. “I have an appointment tomorrow that I need you to take me to.”
“I can’t,” I tell her. “Mr. Benz’s funeral is tomorrow, and I have to be here for it.”
“You’ve got people who can do the work for you,” she counters. “I need you to give me a ride.”
“Whether I have people or not is irrelevant. Mr. Benz is important to me, and I won’t miss his service.” I squeeze my eyes shut to stem the flow of tears. “Why can’t Gerald take you?” I ask, referring to the latest in a long line of men in her life.
“He’s busy.”
Of course, he is.
“And by busy, you mean he left.”
“Fine, he left, not that it matters. I was getting tired of him anyway.”
“Mom, I can’t take you tomorrow,” I reiterate. “You’ll either have to reschedule or find another way. I’m sorry.” I glance at the time on my computer and sigh. “I’ve gotta go.”
She’s still yelling at me when I hang up the phone. It crosses my mind that I should feel guilty for not saying ‘goodbye’ or ‘I love you’, but I don’t. When it comes to the woman who gave birth to me, the only thing I feel is resentment and a deep desire to get as far away from her as possible.