Casket Case

Chapter 4

The next day, Nora closes the store early to meet Grandpa at the church for Frank’s visitation. Nora’s dad helped Frank make his funeral arrangements a few years ago, so there isn’t really anything for Nora to do except show up. When she’d heard about Frank, she had flipped through her dad’s notes to make sure he hadn’t forgotten any part of the plans. Of course he hadn’t. Frank had been his friend, too. Her dad had expected to be here, to take care of all of this. Her dad would have had something to say beyond the notes in Frank’s file, but the notes are all Nora has now.

She has nothing to do to keep her mind from wandering to Garrett. Had he been irritated with her for asking about Frank? Or was that just her imagination?

“Don’t you look like somebody,” Ms. Owens says as Nora walks up the front church steps. She taught Nora in fourth grade and a couple of years in Sunday school. She’s one of those church ladies you don’t want to cross.

Nora looks down and hopes she chose the right day-to-night, funeral-to-date black dress. “Thanks. Have you seen my grandpa?”

“He’s in line already,” she says, as if Nora should know that. “Come on.”

Nora follows her past the line of people already forming through the aisles of the church until she finds Grandpa and his usual group of troublemakers.

“Eleanora, you look like a model in that dress,” Jean says. “Did you change your hairstyle?”

“I decided to do something with it for once,” Nora says. She was happy to find that her straightener still works after months of sitting in the bottom of a bathroom drawer.

She hugs the whole group, saving Grandpa for last.

“How are you, sweetie?” He’s wearing the same nondescript dark suit he always wears to formal occasions, even though it’s too big for him now.

“I’m okay. How are you?”

“I’m all right, too.”

“There are a lot of people here,” she says, looking around at the crowd.

“Frank knew everybody,” Joe says.

“He took care of everybody, you mean,” Margaret says. Margaret is a pharmacist, and she and her husband, Ed, own the pharmacy on the Square.

“Anyone talk to Ms. Annie?” Jean asks.

“I talked to her this morning,” Nora says. “She sounded okay. Sad but holding it together.”

“He would’ve liked to see everyone here,” Grandpa says.

“He would’ve had jokes for all of us,” Margaret says.

They move through the line toward the front of the church, remembering everything Frank had been to all of them.

“Eleanora, your mama and daddy really loved Frank,” Margaret says. “Frank and your daddy used to hold up choir practice because they’d get to laughing.”

“I remember,” she says. Nora didn’t have any brothers and sisters, so many of her friends were adults until she started school. Frank and Ms. Annie would watch her sometimes when her parents had to go out of town for funerals. They taught her to play poker and blackjack, but she wasn’t allowed to tell her parents. Those skills had come in handy once she got to college.

“I bet they’re all looking down at us right now,” Margaret says. They let the thought bounce around in their heads for a moment. They imagine a lot of the same faces staring together, looking down at them and what they’ve made of themselves.

“So, Eleanora, who’s your new friend?” Joe says.

“What friend?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she realizes he means Garrett.

“We heard you were walking with a man yesterday on the Square,” Jean says. She doesn’t mention their last conversation, but Nora can tell she’s going to ask about Tinder later.

“Do you have a man ?” Margaret asks, eager to jump on a new piece of gossip.

“I wouldn’t go that far. That was our first date.”

“How was it?” Grandpa asks.

“Good,” she says, hoping they’ll take the hint and change the subject. They won’t.

“I heard you took him to the Tasty Dip,” Jean says.

“I did.”

“Well, don’t keep us in the dark, Eleanora! What’s he like?” Margaret asks.

“He’s nice,” she says. “We’ve only been out the one time, so I don’t have too much to report.”

“Where did you meet him?” Margaret asks.

“Uh, he came by the store. He needed directions.” Nora leaves out the Frank part of it because she knows that would cause more questions, and she doesn’t have the answers.

“Who would ask directions in a casket store?” Jean asks.

“His GPS brought him there.” Honestly, she hadn’t thought of that. She forgets that she works with death until someone reminds her.

“He could have come to the pharmacy,” Margaret says. “That does sound a bit fishy.”

“He’s not fishy!”

“Well, is he from around here?” Margaret asks.

“No, he’s from North Carolina.”

“I’m glad you’re getting out,” Grandpa says. “You’re too young to stay at home.”

“Too pretty to stay at home,” Jean says. “And too pretty for that other boy. What was his name?”

“Charlie?” Nora asks.

“Yes! Charlie! Catch him in the right light and he looked just like one of Mildred’s show horses.”

Nora could heat the whole church with her embarrassment. “He wasn’t that bad.”

“We just know you can find a better one, sweetie,” Margaret says.

“I’m seeing him again tonight.”

“Sounds serious,” Jean says. “Two nights in a row.” She shoots Margaret a glance that makes Nora’s hands clammy.

“Please don’t make me nervous.”

“Bring him to us,” Ed says. “We’ll figure him out right quick like.” Nora had almost forgotten Ed was standing there, but that’s how Ed is. He sees and hears everything, but he usually lets it play out before he gives his two cents.

“Just take it slow,” Grandpa says. “He might be the one. He might not be. Won’t know unless you try.”

They get through the line to see Ms. Annie and to say their goodbyes to Frank. Nora tries to think about Frank and Ms. Annie and not about her own experience on that side of the visitation line. When her parents died, the visitation lasted for four hours. She stood next to her grandpa, greeting everyone in front of the two matching caskets, until they were the last ones left in more ways than one.

On the way out of the church, Nora hears someone call her name. She turns around to see Johnny Chandler standing in the doorway of an empty Sunday school classroom.

“You can go on ahead,” she says to Grandpa. He hugs her goodbye, and she steps into the classroom to talk to Johnny.

Nora wouldn’t call Johnny a friend, but she has known about him her whole life. His family owns the biggest funeral home in Anniston, so you could almost call them colleagues. Besides selling caskets, Nora helps her customers talk through their specific wants or needs for arrangements and how to make those things happen. Is anyone coming from out of town? What dates make the most sense? Do you want something religious or something less formal? Something for the whole town or something more intimate? Some people come in advance and have all of these questions answered already. Sometimes death comes before you expect it, and the process is a little more difficult to figure out. Either way, Nora knows how to help and who to call.

Since Nora doesn’t run a full-service funeral home, she usually points her customers to Chandler Funeral Home for everything else they need. She does this because they are the closest funeral home to Rabbittown that hasn’t sold out to Prestige, not because she has any sort of faith in their customer service.

“Nice service,” Nora says. He’s pacing the room in his funeral director suit. He’s used too much of some sort of product to tame his blond curly hair.

He shrugs. “Pretty standard, but I’ll take the compliment. How’s the store?”

“Fine,” she says. “Business as usual. How’s yours?”

“Busy.”

This is the way things work with the Clanton and Chandler families. Their parents were always polite to one another’s faces. The Clantons owned the redneck casket store, and the Chandlers spent their Sundays rubbing elbows at the Anniston Country Club. Each year, Mrs. Chandler took her daughter to Europe or the Caribbean for spring break, and Nora usually spent that week reading in a corner of the store while her parents worked. Nora’s family always understood their spot in the social hierarchy of it all, and in case they ever forgot, the Chandlers were more than happy to knock them down a few rungs with a deliberate snub or a rumor about them.

“Did you want something in particular when you called me in here?” Nora asks.

“I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Must be hard doing everything by yourself these days.”

“I’m perfectly capable of doing my job, but thanks for your concern.”

He huffs. “You know I didn’t mean that. What do you take me for, Clanton?” Johnny never uses Nora’s first name. She assumes he can’t remember it.

“I always know what you mean, Johnny.”

He shakes his head but doesn’t try to correct her. “You going to that conference coming up?”

“I guess so.”

“Aren’t they giving your daddy some kind of award?”

“Yeah, some sort of lifetime achievement thing, I think.” Nora’s dad was very involved with the National Funeral Directors Society. They called to ask her to attend the conference and accept the award on his behalf, and she couldn’t say no, even though it sounded both boring and depressing. “Are you going?”

“Maybe,” he says. “If Dad doesn’t. He loves those things.”

“Mine did, too,” she says. “It sounds weird to me. What do they even talk about?”

“I think they’ve got a presentation for gaudy caskets you might like.”

She’s on the way to being offended, but he’s smiling. “Was that a joke?”

“You don’t actually think I’ve looked at the schedule, do you?”

“I guess not. Maybe I’ll see you there.” She backs toward the door to leave before he can hold her there for more awkward conversation about their fathers.

“Yeah, maybe so. I’ll call you if I decide to go. Maybe we can ride together.”

She tries not to let the surprise show on her face. They’ve never even had a full conversation, and he wants to ride somewhere in an enclosed vehicle together?

She manages to say, “Yeah, let me know. Have a good night, Johnny.”

“You, too.”

Driving into town to meet Garrett gives Nora a chance to put her funeral feelings back into their ever-expanding compartment and to locate a more socially acceptable version of herself. She uses the red lights on her route to work on her appearance. She used to love makeup. Growing up, she “borrowed” whatever her mom had, but when she got to college, she realized there was a whole world of products she hadn’t known existed. Sure, she had powder and lip gloss, but Ashley and Taylor, the girls in the dorm room next door, had bags and boxes of bottles and tubes, and Nora had no idea how so many things could go on one face.

Once they graduated and had real salaries with no real obligations, they could afford to buy the expensive things they had spent their college years coveting. Nora finally had fancy brushes! She finally had serums! “Had” being the key word. Scraping dried mascara out of the bottom of the tube reminds her how long it’s been since she’s thought twice about her appearance. Do people still buy mascara? Does Sephora still exist?

As she gets into town, the lights get brighter, and she can see her dull skin tone even more clearly in the light-up mirror on the visor. From the outside, Anniston looks like drive-thrus and chain steakhouses, and it’s fine with Nora if the hidden gems stay hidden. One of her favorite restaurants is in the building that used to house the town brothel, but she sensed her mother’s disapproval from the great beyond when she thought about taking Garrett there for their second date. Nora chose a small Italian place instead, and he’s waiting on the bench outside the front door when she arrives.

“Sorry if I kept you waiting,” Nora says.

“You didn’t,” he says, standing to hug her. “You look great.”

“So do you.” Garrett can wear a suit, but Nora feels like she can see him better now in dark jeans and a navy button-down. He still looks expensive, but maybe more genuine.

An Italian family owns the restaurant, and since Nora has never been to Italy, she has no choice but to accept this as authentic Italian dining: exposed brick, framed photos of Italian landscapes, more bottles of wine than this restaurant could ever go through. The hostess seats them at a tiny two-person table with a pillowcase-size tablecloth, just enough room for two plates, and not much else.

“How was the service?” he asks.

“Good,” she says, and she regrets it immediately. “I mean, as good as these things go. There were people still in line when I left.”

He nods. “Are you sure you feel like being out right now? We can do something else.”

“Are you changing your mind?”

His eyes go wide. “No! I—”

“I was just kidding. I’m fine.”

She tries to remember her posture. Not to fidget. Not to put her elbows on the table. She folds her hands in her lap and tells herself to breathe. The small, nearly empty restaurant and the candlelight—this is intimate. Why are dates like this? Staring at someone you just met while they eat. Maybe it’s supposed to be a test. If you can stomach the person’s table manners or strange food requests, you can handle whatever they might do or say elsewhere.

“Do you come here a lot?” he asks.

“No, it’s a little out of my jurisdiction,” she says. She also doesn’t have anyone who would eat fancy Italian with her, but he doesn’t know that. “Do you live near here?”

“Yeah, my apartment isn’t far.”

The silence lingers long enough for both of them to wonder if he meant anything by that. Nora runs her hand over her knee to double-check that she shaved in the shower this morning. Of course she shaved. She was too nervous to forget. She shaved, plucked, oiled, and stood naked as a jaybird in front of the bathroom mirror while she pinched every area of her body that she wished were different. Does she intend to sleep with this person she just met? If not sex, then how far?

When Nora started high school, everyone in her youth group at church got I Kissed Dating Goodbye as assigned reading. Their twenty-two-year-old youth minister lectured them on the pitfalls of dating and relationships before marriage. God wanted them to be pure for their future spouses, and they would no longer be pure if they gave their first times away to someone else. Some people bought rings and signed purity pledges. Nora didn’t have the thirty dollars for the ring, and she was too embarrassed to ask her parents for it. She assumes they were embarrassed, too, because they were sitting in the sanctuary when all of the pledges were read off by the youth minister, and they never said anything to her about her name not being on the list.

Nora gave up on purity culture once she left her parents’ house, but those thoughts still come back to haunt her. She is thirty years old with no clue when or if she should sleep with someone. She’s had one-night stands, but that was a long time ago, when she had more energy and the body of an eighteen-year-old. Her mother held fast to the “why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free” mentality, and maybe she was right, Nora thinks. Maybe you should wait until you’re in love and you know the other person is in love, too. Or maybe life’s too short to wait for anything. Maybe there is no right answer. Maybe there are just too many questions.

“Nora?” Garrett asks.

“Hmm?”

He laughs. “I asked what kind of wine you like.”

“Sorry,” she says, trying to shake the sex out of her brain. “Anything red.”

The waitress appears in time to make a few suggestions. Nora assumes all of the wine in the restaurant is better than her usual choice.

“Did you work today?” Nora asks once they’re alone again.

“I did. It was a pretty boring day. Mostly office work.”

“Do you have an office here?”

“I usually work at home or on the road, depending on the situation.”

“I’m still not sure I understand what you do.”

He smiles. “No one does. Consulting is pretty vague.”

“What did you do today? Specifically.”

“Specifically, I updated client files. I’m always behind.”

“That does sound boring.” Nora decides that leaving it here is the most polite thing she can do. She can prod for more information if he calls again after this date.

“What did you do today? Specifically?”

Nora laughs. “I waited around for someone to buy something, but no one ever did.”

The waitress brings the wine, and Nora is thankful for something to do with her hands.

“What’s good here?” he asks.

“I don’t think anything is bad. I usually have carbonara or something with pesto.” Nora’s dad loved their lasagna. They used to come here for his birthday, but she doesn’t want to mention that. She knows her parents will eventually come up in conversation, but she doesn’t have to be the one to bring up the topic. “I’ve heard the lasagna is good.”

“I was thinking about the lasagna.”

“Honestly, I’m probably not the person to ask, because I don’t like tomato sauce.”

“So, you don’t like lasagna?”

“It’s better than spaghetti.”

He looks at Nora for a moment and turns his head a little like he’s assessing her.

“What?” she asks.

“I’m trying to figure you out.”

Her heart beats a tad faster. “I’m not that complicated.”

Of course they’re interrupted by the server. This is another problem with dinner dates. You’re constantly being bothered by a stranger with questions that have to be answered. They might as well wait until they leave the restaurant to have a full conversation. Garrett orders the lasagna. Nora orders the carbonara. They should have at least eight to twelve minutes alone if the box of store-brand spaghetti noodles in Nora’s pantry knows anything.

“If you don’t like it, we can order something else,” Garrett says. Nora realizes she’s been swirling the wine around in her glass without drinking any. So much for not fidgeting.

“No, it’s fine. Good, I mean. I don’t know much about wine, so I’m not hard to please.” She takes a sip to prove her point.

“I’m trying to learn,” he says. “My sister is really into it.”

“Like she drinks a lot of it?”

He smiles. “Oh, she definitely drinks a lot of it, but she goes to classes and tastings and tries to get everyone else to go with her.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. How many siblings do you have?”

“One sister, one brother.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older sister, younger brother.” He clears his throat. “My brother passed away when I was young.”

“I’m so sorry.” Most people would feel awkward with this change in topic, but a substantial amount of Nora’s conversations over the years had been about death, so she’s had a lot of practice with this subject. It’s usually easier to talk about someone’s life than to remember the facts of their death, or at least it was for her. “What was he like?”

“He was a stereotypical little brother. He was always aggravating my sister and me and following us around. Then he got sick when he was four. Leukemia.”

“How old were you?”

“I was eight when he died.”

Nora nods her understanding. Of course she has more questions, but with any luck, they’ll have more time to talk about it later. “What’s your sister like?”

“She’s a nurse. She got married a couple of years ago, so she’s currently being pressured for children.” Now he’s the one swirling his wine without drinking any.

“Sorry if I’m interrogating you. I’m a curious person, and it can be annoying.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” he says. “But I think it’s your turn. Tell me about your family.”

Garrett’s family history has taken a little of the pressure off Nora’s story. Might as well leave the theatrics for a future date and tell the truth, since he can google it when he gets home, if he hasn’t already. She tries to say it as quickly as possible, like ripping off a Band-Aid: “My parents died in a car accident about a year ago. I don’t have any brothers or sisters.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Garrett says.

“Thank you,” she says, choosing the easiest of response choices. “They were great parents, and I’m lucky I had them for so long. It’s just me and my grandpa now.”

“What were your parents like?” he asks. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind. My dad was a people person. He could sell anything. He would help anyone. If he didn’t know how to deal with something, he knew someone to call. He was a doer. If that makes sense.”

“Yeah, it does,” he says.

“My mom was more reserved. She could keep a secret. She was funny, too. I look like her. Frizzy dark hair, round face, all the freckles.” Nora gestures at her pale arm covered in freckles, still hoping they might join forces one day to give her a tan. “She had blue eyes, though. I got the brown from my dad.”

“I assume one of them was tall.”

“My mom. She was my height. What are your parents like?”

“They’re great. The kind of parents people wish for. I look like my mom, too.”

Once again, the server interrupts to slide their plates of pasta in front of them. She asks if they want Parmesan cheese. They do. She asks if they want black pepper. They do. The chef could have just done that in the kitchen, as far as Nora is concerned. She isn’t impressed with graters or pepper grinders.

“So, you’re close with your grandpa?” Garrett asks when they’re alone again. He uses his fork to cut his lasagna into bite-size pieces.

“Yeah, we always have been.” She twirls noodles onto her fork as calmly as she can, trying not to fling sauce across the table accidentally. “He offered me a room at his house when I moved back, but I wasn’t sure we would be a great roommate match. I took over my parents’ house instead.”

“How has that turned out?”

“Sometimes I think about selling it, but it seems like it would take a lot of work.” She looks over and notices that his plate is half empty. “You must like the lasagna.”

“God, yes. Sorry, I could have offered you some.” His face turns the color of spaghetti sauce.

“No, I have my own.” Nora laughs. “You must have been hungry. Or do you usually eat that quickly?”

“Maybe a little of both. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I swear I have manners.”

She laughs again, and they spend the rest of the meal talking about pasta. Nora describes an Italian restaurant she loves in Birmingham. Garrett says they should go sometime. Nora tries not to read too much into his comment. She lets him finish the last few bites of her carbonara. He gives the waitress his credit card to pay without a glance at the check.

“What do you want to do now?” he asks as they leave the restaurant.

“I don’t know. There isn’t much going on around here on a weeknight.”

They take a few steps down the sidewalk, and they’re standing in front of an ATM when Garrett says, “Hey.”

When Nora turns to reply, he kisses her. They both taste like garlic, but neither of them cares. He’s gentle at first, but then Nora wraps her arms around his neck and nothing is gentle.

He pulls away first. “Do you want to come to my apartment?”

She should say no. She’s not sure if she’s ready for anything more. She’s not sure if any of this is a good idea.

But. There’s always a “but.”

She really likes kissing him.

“Yes.”

He takes her hand and leads her to the passenger side of his car, and he opens the door like a true southern gentleman. She tries not to overthink everything as he’s driving to his apartment, but overthinking is her specialty. Does she remember how this works? Will she know what to do? She tries to concentrate on the other cars on the road and the song on the radio and the feel of Garrett’s hand in hers, figuring that maybe if she doesn’t let herself think about it, she can act like a normal person instead of a skittish squirrel trapped in a garage.

Garrett’s apartment is more like a townhouse. She walks through the foyer and into the living room, trying to take in all the details. Since she’s holding Garrett’s hand, he has no choice but to walk with her as she examines the display of photographs on the wall.

“Did you take these?”

“My dad did.”

“Is he a photographer?”

He shakes his head. “My dad? No. Not professionally, I mean. As a hobby, I guess.”

Garrett doesn’t usually stumble over his words.

“Do you not want to talk about your dad?”

“We can talk about whatever you want.”

“I feel like you’re being weird. Did I say something wrong?”

He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just a little distracted with you here in my apartment.”

She takes a step closer to him. “You brought me here.”

“I know,” he says, closing the remaining space between them. “It’s one of my better ideas.”

He places a hand against her cheek, and she leans into it, smiling up at him until he kisses her. He’s tender at first, but the energy shifts when Nora winds her arms around his neck and pushes her body against his with a groan she can’t hold in. He guides her backward until her legs hit the couch. The kisses become long and drawn out, and about the time that she can’t take it anymore, he shifts to lie on top of her.

“Is this too fast?” he asks.

“No,” she says. “Don’t stop.” One of her hands finds his hair, and the other reaches across his back, pulling him against her. Garrett’s hands move slowly and deliberately over her dress until he finds the zipper.

He pauses to look at her for a moment, and she recognizes the expression in his eyes. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

She does. She really does. But even as he asked, her body’s overwhelming response was anxiety.

“No,” she manages. “Not tonight.” She knows it’s the right thing to do, but she’s disappointed in herself. Why couldn’t she just do it? Garrett is hot. He makes her feel like she’s hot, too. Sex is a pretty normal way to end a date. It’s not her first time. She braces herself for the usual rejection that comes after the guy realizes she’s not putting out.

“Okay,” he says. “We can stay here.” The next kiss and the way his hand slides up her thigh doesn’t feel anything like rejection.

It’s midnight when she tells him she has to go home. He doesn’t ask her to stay. He doesn’t even complain about driving her back to the restaurant. Nora’s car is the only one left downtown, and Garrett parks his Mercedes next to it.

“You don’t have to get out,” she says as he turns off the engine and opens his door.

“I want to,” Garrett says. He comes around to the passenger side and presses her against the car. “I’m not done kissing you yet.” She’s the one who wanted to slow down, and she doesn’t want to send mixed signals, but it’s hard to keep her story straight with his hands in her hair and his tongue in her mouth.

“We’re going to get in trouble.”

“With who?” he asks against her lips. “There’s no one around.”

She laughs. “You might be a bad influence.”

He rests his forehead against hers. “You seem like a willing participant.”

She nods in agreement, standing on her toes to kiss him.

“When can I see you again?” he asks once they’re both out of breath.

“When do you want to see me?” she asks.

“Sooner than later.”

She smiles. “What about this weekend?”

“I’d like to call you, so we can talk about it.”

“I hope you do,” she says. She kisses him one last time before getting into her car to drive back to Rabbittown. The last time she drove to Rabbittown after midnight was probably ten years ago. She turns on the radio in time to hear “Cowboy Take Me Away,” and she doesn’t necessarily feel young, but she does feel alive. Happy, even. Of course, it’s Garrett, but it’s her, too. She did something she wanted to do, for once. She had fun.

About the time she gets home, her phone rings. It’s Garrett.

“Are you home?” he asks.

“Yeah, I just got here.”

“I forgot to tell you I had a good time.”

“It was implied,” she laughs. “I did, too.”

“I know I keep forgetting, but I really do have manners.”

“You keep saying that.”

“You should go to bed,” he says. “You have to work.”

“I’m trying to.” Can he tell she’s smiling like an idiot?

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Good night, Nora.”

“Good night, Garrett.”

For once, her dreams are not about Cheers and Sam Malone.