Chapter 2
“Everyone dies,” Nora says.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Jean asks.
Fifty-seven years ago, Nora’s Papa Moore had used this logic to convince her grandma that they should use their savings to start Rabbittown Casket Company and try to make some money off a sure thing. Maybe he was tired of farming, where nothing was a sure thing. Maybe her Papa Moore was just a morbid person. Maybe Death had visited often that year and left the idea as he was passing through. Nora’s mom, Anita, wanted to be done with the whole thing, but when Anita’s parents died and left her the store, Nora’s dad, Billy, convinced her to keep it going. Billy’s dad worked a boring office job at an insurance company, so he was excited by the prospect of a family business that would make him feel like he was helping the community with more than just paperwork.
“It’s a steady job,” Nora says. “Why would I look for another one?”
“Because selling caskets seems about the furthest thing from something most people would want to do. I remember you saying as much.”
Nora sits at Jean and Joe’s kitchen table watching Jean flip through an old cookbook. The pages are worn and stained with remnants of the recipes inside. She’s trying to find a recipe for her grandson’s fifth birthday party. Lucas doesn’t like cake. He doesn’t like bread of any kind. He also doesn’t like loud noises or excitement, so this birthday party might not be a great idea, but Nora knows better than to tell that to a grandmother.
“There were some kinks at first, but I’m figuring it out.”
“Don’t say another word about kinks with the caskets, Eleanora.” Jean pauses on a cobbler recipe and examines the ingredients through her dark-rimmed glasses. “What is there to figure out?”
Nora presses the toe of her black ballet flat into the table leg next to her. Joe and Jean have had this square table in the middle of their kitchen for as long as she can remember, and probably much longer than that. “I’m just not as good with customers as Dad was.”
Nora’s dad remembered everything. He could place everyone, somehow. He knew your cousin or your preacher or your veterinarian. He could recall every conversation. All of the little details that Nora doesn’t even notice. She thinks it’s the only reason the store has stayed open this long.
Rabbittown Casket Company has always counted on word of mouth as its main marketing strategy. When someone dies suddenly, the family might not know what to do, but they do know they can call their second cousin Billy or Mrs. Anita from church to help them sort it out. The residents of Rabbittown and other places like it are suspicious of any funeral homes that have been taken over by Prestige or big fancy funeral homes like those run by the Chandler family. The Chandlers had started small, and they were owned by a local family, but with every new location they opened, they became more like a big company. More like Prestige.
Nora’s parents had no interest in expanding. They just wanted to reach as much of the community as possible. Nora’s dad figured the more hands he could shake, the better. Nora’s mom used to make sure the doctors and nurses in the area were flush with informative pamphlets and her famous pound cake. Nora has tried to follow those plans exactly, but she can’t make her mother’s pound cake. It always turns out dry. Anita kept promising to teach Nora how to make it, just like her mother taught her all those years ago, but they never got around to it. You can’t predict car accidents. Nora knows she will have to figure out her own marketing techniques, since the “dead parents pity period” feels like it’s about to end.
“You’re better than you think. It’s in your blood. Tell me you’ve been doing something besides working.”
“That’s about it.”
“What about Ashley and Taylor?” Jean remembers things, too.
“Haven’t heard from them.”
“Well, call them up.” Jean opens another cookbook on the table.
The last time Nora saw Ashley and Taylor, she had just moved back home. They drove to Rabbittown for lunch and to make sure Nora was showering and eating on a regular basis like a functioning member of society. Nora promised to visit them in Birmingham, but she hasn’t. They don’t push. Nora doesn’t blame them.
“We’re all just busy right now.”
“Busy doing what?”
“Taylor is dating someone. Ashley has a new job.” Nora had learned this information from Instagram.
“What are you busy doing?”
“I have a job.”
Jean narrows her eyes. Some people would bail from the discomfort of this conversation, but Jean has never bailed on anything, especially when it involves someone she loves.
Even though Joe and Jean are Black, Nora grew up thinking Jean was her aunt until her mother explained that they weren’t actually related. Whenever her parents needed help or advice, they called Joe and Jean. Joe had worked at the same insurance company as her grandpa, until they both retired. Joe and Jean were at every basketball game and awards day ceremony Nora can remember. To most other people, Joe and Jean are known for their Christmas lights, which light up the whole neighborhood. Hundreds of people from the eastern half of Alabama drive to the boonies to sit in line to see the show.
“You work at the store from eight to five?” Jean asks.
“Yes.”
“You go to church. You see your grandpa. What are you doing the rest of the time?”
“I have things to do at home,” Nora says.
“What things?”
“Laundry, the dishes, whatever there is.”
“When’s the last time you went on a date?”
Sometimes Nora can figure out where these conversations are going, but not today. “I guess sometime before I got dumped.”
“Months ago. Single people go on dates, you know.”
“Who would I go out with?”
“Whoever you want,” Jean says.
“What if I don’t want to?”
She smiles. “You’d rather scrub toilets every night?”
“Maybe I need time.”
Jean puts her hand over Nora’s. “You’ve been through a lot. Your mama and daddy, moving home, minding that store like a good daughter. But you can’t hide there forever.”
“I’m not hiding,” Nora says.
“You’re young.”
“I’m thirty. Doesn’t feel that young.”
“Well, I’m sixty-seven, and you need to be spending time with people your own age.”
“No one in Rabbittown is my age,” Nora says. She sulks back into the chair and crosses her arms, taking the position of an unruly teenager being lectured.
“Get on Tinder.” Jean stands up from the table and slides the cookbook back into its place on the counter next to the stove.
“What do you know about Tinder, Jean?”
“I’ve got a TV, and it works as well as yours. Maybe better, because I don’t run it down watching Cheers every night.” Jean turns to Nora with her hands on her hips; she means business. “You’re going to have to leave the house sometime, girl.”
After Nora’s parents died, her boyfriend, Charlie, used to drive from Birmingham to Rabbittown on the weekends, and they spent most evenings in the cemetery lying on a blanket near the Clanton family headstones. Nora didn’t do it every night, but it was nice to look up at the stars somewhere she thought they might be instead of somewhere she knew they weren’t.
She stopped spending nights in the cemetery around the time Charlie stopped being there. Yes, he was technically there, but at some point, Nora started to notice that he was maybe not really “there.” Like maybe she was imagining him next to her when he was somewhere else entirely.
Then she found him. She had gone to Birmingham to pick up a few things she had left in her old apartment. She hadn’t asked for his help because she wanted to show him that she could leave the house. That she could take care of herself. That things were getting better.
Nora was at a red light when she saw him getting into a car with a woman she didn’t know.
She knew things hadn’t been great. It hadn’t been fun. It hadn’t been easy. There was no way for him to be certain that life with Nora would get back to the way it had been. Especially when he’d found someone who still laughed, who didn’t ask him to lie under the stars in the cemetery or sleep with the television on. Nora doesn’t blame him. It’s a lot of work to be the normal one.
She had loved him. She would have married him. They would have been a happy suburban family. Death had changed everything. Ruined everything.
Driving back to the store from Jean’s, Nora is reminded of one of the perks of returning to a small town: no traffic. The name Rabbittown is a bit of a misnomer. It’s less of a town and more of an unincorporated community, or at least that’s what it says on the welcome sign next to the post office as you drive into the Square. “Square” isn’t the right word either, but you can’t really call it “downtown” if you’ve ever been to an actual downtown. Rabbittown Casket Company sits between the Taming ofthe Ewe fabric store and Rabbittown Pharmacy and across from the Chat & Brew coffee shop. The owners of every business on the Square meet once a month as the self-appointed Rabbittown Square Council to ensure that nothing changes in their lifetime. Nora is the newest addition to the group, and she learned pretty quickly that the menfolk will let her know when they want her opinion on anything.
Nora opens the store a few minutes late, but she doesn’t care because she has been dreading this particular workday. Nora’s dad never liked doing the paperwork right away and generally had trouble making it from point A to point B without getting distracted, so he had an annoying habit of leaving stacks of paper on any surface in the casket shop he could find. She has planned to spend the day sorting through some of the remaining piles, even though she knows it’s unlikely that someone would need to see the paperwork for something they’ve buried six feet under the ground.
A few minutes after flipping the sign from Closed to Open, Nora is sitting on the floor surrounded by yellowed carbon copies of casket orders from the 1980s when she realizes she’s not alone. Garrett Bishop stands at the counter waiting to be noticed.
“You scared me. Again,” Nora says, unfolding herself as gracefully as she can manage. She runs a hand through her hair and tries to smooth out her clothes.
“I’m sorry. Again.”
She lets her eyes wander, taking in his gray suit and white dress shirt with no tie. She can’t tell if he’s actually in shape or if his self-assuredness just makes him seem like the type of someone who would have a gym membership or one of those apps to find nearby trails. His dark, wavy hair is perfectly arranged. She had doubted her own judgment yesterday, but now she can be sure he’s that specific blend of classically handsome with a few interesting peculiarities thrown in to make him the romantic comedy version of hot. She’s taking in his long eyelashes when she realizes he’s looking back at her with an amused expression, as if he knows exactly the sort of thoughts running through her head.
She clears her throat in an attempt to clear her mind. “Did you find Frank yesterday?”
“I did. Thanks to your help.”
“Are you back for more directions?”
“Maybe.” He leans down, resting his arms on the counter, so he can meet Nora’s eyes. “Where do people go on dates around here?”
Nora’s heart beats a little faster, and her stomach fills with something, but she can’t decipher if it’s hope or dread. She tells herself the question has nothing to do with her. He met her once. It’s not going to happen. “I would say the Tasty Dip, but my last date around here was a long time ago.” Her last date in general was a long time ago, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“That doesn’t sound very romantic.”
“It’s not really, but they have the best ice cream in the county.” They also have a back parking lot where teenagers go to make out in their cars. She keeps that to herself.
“Well, I know we just met, but I can only come up with so many reasons to run into you, so I’ll be direct. How would you feel about having ice cream with me sometime?”
He seems confident, his forearms propped on the counter like he does this sort of thing all the time, like it wouldn’t be a big deal if Nora rejected him to his face, but his jittery hands give him away.
Nora doesn’t go on dates. She doesn’t go anywhere, really. Her life is stable. Comfortable. Easy. She knows that falling for someone would end all of that. He’s attractive. He has a job. He’s well-dressed. Why would he want to go out with her? She spends most of her days talking about dead people, and she has certainly looked better.
Garrett drums his fingertips against the countertop, waiting for an answer.
Nora can’t imagine how much alcohol it would take to get her to ask out a complete stranger. In person! In broad daylight! Is he an alcoholic? Or a drug addict?
She thinks she should say no and save him from any entanglement with her, but there’s something about him. She can’t explain it. From what she knows about life-altering soulmate connections, she’s supposed to get some sort of signal that the person standing in front of her is the other half of her soul, like when you use the remote to find your car in a parking lot. This doesn’t necessarily feel like that, but she feels something. Something as simple as interest, maybe, for the first time in a long time.
“Okay,” Nora says.
“Okay?”
“Yes, I would feel okay about the ice cream.”
Garrett’s lips twitch, but he stops short of a full smile. Playing it cool, he pulls a business card out of his pocket. Knowing where this is going, Nora interrupts.
“Can I give you my number?” She knows that if it’s up to her to call, she’ll never do it.
Without pause, Garrett hands her his phone and presumably all his secrets, which is refreshing and super weird at the same time. Nora calls her phone, so she has his number.
“Is tonight too soon?” he asks.
“To call or get ice cream?”
“Either. Both. Whatever I can get.” Garrett can play it cool for only so long.
“No one has ever been this excited for my company.” She assumes that at some point while they’re at the ice cream stand where she used to eat dipped cones and push-up pops with her parents, he will ask about her family. No one comes to a first date prepared to offer condolences for dead parents. No one has known what to say ever since she got the call that her parents had wrapped their car around the Wilsons’ oak tree half a mile from their house.
“Do I seem desperate?” Garrett asks.
“I work in a casket store. It’s probably me who should be desperate.”
He laughs, dimples and all, and Nora does her best not to swoon right in front of him.
“I would love to get ice cream tonight. Can you meet me here sometime after four-thirty?”
“Sure,” he says, checking his watch. “I’ll be here at four-thirty.”
Garrett leaves quickly, before Nora has time to change her mind. She examines the business card he left on the counter. Could his job be as boring as the card looks? It has “Garrett Bishop” and “Regional Director of Logistics” and not much else. There’s a strange symbol that Nora doesn’t recognize in the top left corner, instead of a company name. It’s a circle with two lines coming down like legs from a stick figure, and at the bottom of each leg there are two short lines pointing out. Or maybe it’s a key with two stems. Or two keys with their heads overlapped. Maybe she will ask him later. Nora thinks about walking up the hill to the café to ask Frank what he knows about Garrett, but she talks herself out of it. It’s a first date. It doesn’t have to be that serious.
She is thinking about which ice cream would be the most ladylike to eat—certainly not a cone—when her grandpa calls the store.
“Nora?” His tone doesn’t sound right.
“Yeah, it’s me. Is everything okay?”
“I hate to call you at work, but I didn’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”
“Hear what?”
“Something happened last night. It’s Frank. He’s dead.”