Casket Case

Chapter 5

Nora and Garrett make plans to see each other the next night. When she meets him at his apartment after work, his kitchen counter is covered with pizza toppings. He has bagged cheese, bricked cheese, and cheese in plastic tubs alongside peppers, onions, and meats Nora doesn’t completely recognize.

He jitters with excitement. “You said pizza is your favorite, right?”

“I did say that.” Truthfully, fried okra is her favorite, but that’s not a normal answer to share with most people.

“I thought we could make our own. I don’t know what you like—”

“So you bought everything you could find?” Nora says, holding up two of the four jars of pizza sauce on the counter. “Garrett, this might be overkill.”

“I was trying to impress you.” He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and even when he doesn’t try, he looks more put together than anyone she knows. How is this man still single?

She laughs. “I’m impressed.”

“I’m sure I forgot something obvious.” He searches the counter frantically until he locates the cheese pile. “Okay, we do have cheese.”

“I think we’ll manage,” she says, hooking her fingers into his belt loops to pull him toward her. His eyebrows jump in surprise, but they both forget about the pizza until the oven beeps to let them know it’s preheated.

“Sorry, I distracted you,” she says against his lips.

“I’m not.” He kisses her again, and he steps toward her until she realizes he’s backing her out of the kitchen.

She reaches out in time to grab the doorframe. “Wait, what about the pizza?”

“I don’t care about the pizza right now.” In case she’s confused, his green eyes sear his meaning into her brain.

“Well, I do. It was really sweet of you to do all of this.”

“And we can eat it later,” he laughs. He wraps his arms around her, so that their bodies are pressed together.

“Or we can do this later.” She hates herself for stalling. Again.

He rests his head against hers for a moment and then presses his lips to her forehead. This gentleness sends the butterflies in her stomach into their own frenzied version of Talladega.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll do it your way.”

“I’m sorry. I know I started it.”

He grabs both sides of her face. “You have to stop apologizing so much.”

She starts to apologize again, but he holds a finger against her lips.

“I’m serious. You don’t need to apologize to me. Especially not about this.”

She nods.

“Unless you’re sorry you kissed me.”

She shakes her head.

He’s looking at her intently, and she can tell he wants to kiss her. She smiles and shakes her head again.

He leans closer and whispers, “I need to do something else with my hands.”

She follows him back to his pizza workspace, where he retrieves two sheet pans from a cabinet below.

“I thought we could each make our own. I got a few different pizza crust options,” he begins, rifling through the fridge.

“I’ll take the first one you find in there,” she says. Peering over his shoulder, she notes that he has a very full refrigerator for someone who hasn’t been in town long.

He plops a metal-lidded tube into her hand. “Let’s go with this one.”

She examines it as if she knows anything about tubed pizza crusts before peeling back the label and popping open the can. “Where do you want this?”

A cutting board appears in front of her. She moves out of the way while he cuts the crust in half with an overly large knife. He spreads half on one sheet pan and half on the other. “What do you want on yours?”

She looks over the toppings covering the counter and reaches for the sauce with the title “Pizza Sauce” and the bag of shredded “Pizza Cheese.” Behind the peppers and onions, she spots a plastic package of pepperoni and points for Garrett to slide it over to her. “Done.”

He tilts his head at her. “That’s it? Shredded cheese and pepperoni?”

“And sauce.” She waves the jar at him.

“I thought you were a pizza expert.”

“I am. I’ve had every version of pepperoni pizza you can find in the frozen section at Rabbittown Grocery.”

His laugh breaks up his gaping expression. “You know what? I will let that go for now, and I will look past this travesty.” He points at her pile of toppings. “In exchange, you have to try mine.” He begins collecting his own toppings, which include the jar of sauce with the description written in Italian, a clove of garlic, and a green pepper.

“I promise to try it, but I can’t promise I’ll like it.”

“You’ll like it.”

“You’re really going to cut that up?” she asks as he smashes the clove of garlic on a cutting board to remove the papery skin.

He smirks. “That’s sort of how it works, yes. Why don’t you worry about yours?”

“Fine, I will.” She uses a spoon to spread her store-brand sauce all over the crust and tops it with the store-brand shredded cheese. When she checks Garrett’s progress, she lets out a gasp. “You cannot be serious.”

An anchovy hangs from his fingertips, newly freed from its jar below. He wiggles it toward her face. “You don’t like anchovies?”

She takes a step away from him. “No, I will not eat that tiny fish. You need to put it back with its fish family.”

“In the jar?” He laughs.

“Away from me.”

“You know that pepperoni comes from a pig?”

She plugs her ears. “Don’t say that.”

“You’ll eat that, but you won’t eat this? I’m going to cut it up. You won’t even know it’s there.”

“Then why do you need it at all?”

“I’ll leave you a section without it. Will that work for you?”

“You better mark that section clearly.”

He reaches over for her package of pepperoni. “I will.”

While they wait for the pizzas to bake, they put away all the toppings, and Garrett opens a bottle of wine.

“Am I allowed to ask for ranch?” Nora asks as she sits down at his dining room table with her plate of pepperoni pizza and the portion of Garrett’s pizza that had been barricaded by a row of pepperoni.

He pulls a bottle from the door of his fridge and hands it to her. “I’m not too good for ranch.”

She pours some on the edge of her plate. “All of this really is amazing. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Garrett sits down next to her. “But as a warning, if you say it’s not as good as Pizza Rolls, I don’t think I’ll recover.”

She takes a bite of her pepperoni slice. “It’s really good. I like the crust.”

“So, you would say it’s better than Pizza Rolls?”

“I would say, If you can’t handle the answer, you shouldn’t ask the question.”

His jaw drops. “I don’t believe that.”

She smiles. “I’m just kidding. But I’m not giving up Pizza Rolls.”

“I’ll save that battle for another day.”

After dinner, Garrett finds a soccer game he wants to watch, and Nora admits that she is still trying to understand the sport. She gets the main idea, but the positions and the lines are too much. She certainly can’t keep up with all the teams. As he’s giving her an overview of the league and why this particular game is important, she realizes that he’s really smart. It’s not like she thought he was dumb, but he’s the kind of smart that lets you skip grades. Nora figures this should probably intimidate her, but he doesn’t treat her like she’s dumb. He explains things in multiple ways because he wants her to understand them, like he wants to make sure he clears up her confusion. He’s one of those teachers who get excited when you answer something correctly.

“How do you know all of this? Do you play soccer?” She has his right hand in hers, massaging her thumbs into his palm and the spaces between his knuckles.

“God, no.” He laughs. “I’ve tried but I’m not great at it. I played basketball.”

“So, you just keep up with it?”

“Yeah, I guess. If it’s in the sports section, I read it.”

“You read the newspaper?”

He nods.

“Like a physical newspaper?”

He laughs. “Yes, I like to hold it in my hand.”

“What paper?”

“The Times .”

This makes her laugh. “Did you just call it ‘the Times ’?”

“That’s what it’s called!”

“Well, I have a subscription to ‘the Star, ’ and by that I mean The Anniston Star, because I’m not nearly as worldly as you are.”

He tries to hide his smile. “I guess you’re caught up on high school football then.”

“Hey! They have a decent crossword puzzle.”

“You would do the crossword puzzle.”

“Yeah, I do it at work every morning, thank you very much.”

“Do you cheat?”

“Why, you don’t think I can do it by myself?” Sometimes she does look up the last few clues, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.

“I didn’t say that!”

“It was implied.”

“I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of finishing The Anniston Star crossword puzzle,” he laughs. He switches hands, and when she presses her thumbs into the fleshy part of his palm he winces.

“Sorry,” she says. “Too much?”

He shakes his head and examines the sore spot she found. “I didn’t know you could have tension in your hands. How’d you learn to do that?”

“I don’t really know,” she says. “My mom used to do it. I guess it’s sort of a habit now.”

“So, you do it to all your dates?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Just the ones who make fun of my newspaper choices.”

He smiles at first, but then his face turns serious. “Can I ask you something?”

She braces herself for the other shoe to drop. “Sure.”

“Well.” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “I guess really I just want to tell you something.” He takes both of her hands and laces their fingers together.

“Are you about to tell me you’re married?”

This surprises him. “No. Are you married?”

Nora is mildly distracted by his proximity. The way his lips move when he speaks. The way the pad of his thumb feels against the side of her thumb. “I’m not anything. What did you want to say?”

“I just want you to know that I’m not dating anyone else.” He says this with confidence, and not in the same blurting-it-out way that she would have said it. Nora pauses. They are both acutely aware of his eyes searching hers for a reaction and not getting much of anything.

“Okay,” she says. She tries to think, but her thoughts don’t come.

Garrett tries again with clarification: “I don’t know if you’re dating other people, but I want you to know that I’m not.”

What is the right thing to say here? The truth? That the only other person she is dating is the 1980s reruns version of Ted Danson? She thinks it’s probably more attractive if she pretends that she has other options, like she’s some sought-after prize that he can win if he tries hard enough. They haven’t known each other that long. Shouldn’t she try to spare him for a while? Be a little mysterious? He doesn’t need to know what her life is really like. The wine and the silence and the fear that everything good will eventually leave.

The more truths she tells him, the closer they get to each other, the sooner he will run. She knows she’s supposed to lure him in first, like fishing for catfish with cut-up hot dogs. You’re supposed to cover the sharp parts of yourself with the processed-meat parts.

Nora has a house, a steady job, and she thinks your jokes are funny, but surprise! One of the bedrooms in her house is closed off permanently. She only does the dishes every few weeks. She ignores most holidays. She has no friends.

“I can tell by your face that I’m not doing a good job of this,” he says.

“I’m sorry. It’s not you.”

He huffs. “Don’t apologize.”

“I’m sorry for apologizing.”

“Nora.”

“What?”

“I’m trying to be serious here.” He lowers his head to meet her eyeline.

“I’m listening.”

He doesn’t look away. “I’m trying to ask if you’re dating other people. It’s okay if you are. I know it’s early, but I really like you, and I just wanted you to know that. I want us to be on the same page.”

Nora nods. She doesn’t fully know what she thinks or where this whole thing is going, but she’s certain she’s going to mess itup.

“Can you say something now?” he asks. “You’re kind of killing me here.”

She sits up straighter to show that she means business. “No, I’m not dating anyone else.”

He tries and fails to rein in the huge smile that covers his face. “Well, I would be fine if you didn’t. Date anyone else, I mean.”

She lets out a laugh, releasing some of the tension in her body. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

Without warning, he leans across the couch and covers her mouth with his. She shifts to pull him on top of her, wrapping her legs around him to hold him in place where she wants him. Between his tongue in her mouth and his hand sliding up her dress, Nora loses track of her thoughts. Her hands twist into his hair and move down his back, pulling him closer. When his hand stops at a respectful location, she pauses their kissing long enough to whisper, “Don’t stop.”

His hand travels up her thigh and under her dress, over her stomach and her bra, and he lowers his mouth to kiss the side of her neck. She arches into him, feeling him against her, and she moans something close to his name. He smiles down at her, and she runs her hand through his hair again, unable to think of something charming to say.

“What do you want?” he asks, his hand skimming down to the lace at her hip.

“Don’t stop,” she says again. She isn’t sure if other words exist at the moment, and she certainly can’t call any to mind. She reaches down to guide his hand where and how she wants it, and he doesn’t stop until she moans his name a final time and lies back on the couch.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, kissing her jaw and then her cheek and then her lips.

She kisses him back, snaking her body around his, but he rolls over to lie beside her, creating space between them. “I think we should take this slow,” he says.

This is pretty much what she had expected. That she would do something wrong without even knowing. “Okay. Can I ask why?”

He kisses her fingers. “I don’t want to mess this up. We don’t have to do everything in one night.”

“What if I want to do everything in one night?”

A laugh escapes him, so she laughs, too. It’s better than crying.

“I’m not immune to all of this, you know.” He presses her hand to his lips again.

“It sort of seems like you are.”

“I just think we should wait.”

“We can wait.” Waiting has never killed anyone, as far as she knows. She asks the question floating through her mind: “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

“Everything is right, I promise.” He kisses her gently, as if she might break.

Choosing to believe his words, she burrows into him, wrapping an arm around his chest and resting her head on his shoulder. “Everything is right for me, too.”

—

On Monday, when Nora bursts through Jean’s kitchen door, she steps right into the middle of a lecture. Jean and her daughter, Linda, are standing across the room from each other, wearing identical faces of frustration.

“I can come back,” Nora says.

“Nope,” Linda says. “Your timing is perfect.”

Jean had Linda a few years before Nora’s mom had her, so Nora spent a lot of her childhood following Linda around and using her hand-me-downs. She’s pretty sure that Joe and Jean tried to have more children, but that’s not something you talk about around here, so no one knows the details. Nora does know that Linda is as perfect as any child could be. Growing up, she was the smartest person in her class. She never got into trouble. Her dream was to go to Johns Hopkins and become a pediatrician, and she almost made it look easy. She married another pediatrician from Johns Hopkins, and they moved back to Anniston to start their own practice.

“Have a seat,” Jean says. “Both of you.” Jean slides a child-size cup of coffee across the table to Nora, who sits down next to Linda.

“How are all your tiny patients, Linda?” she asks.

“Passing a stomach bug around at the moment,” Linda says, shaking her head. “It’s been a rough few weeks.”

Nora leans away from her. “Are you contagious?”

“Too late for you if I am. How’s the store?”

“The same. I’m thinking about changing things up. Maybe some new paint or curtains or something.”

“You should! Paint it something bright.”

“When’s the last time anything changed in there?” Jean asks.

“Before my time. Before I can remember, at least.”

“Let me look through the material I have,” Jean says. “I can make you some curtains.”

“We should make a weekend of it,” Linda says. “You could get some artwork or maybe a new rug. That wouldn’t be too expensive.”

“I hadn’t even thought of artwork,” Nora says. “We should find some estate sales or something.”

“Do you want help with the painting?” Linda asks.

“You want to help me paint in all your spare time?” Nora takes a drink of her coffee and finds comfort in the familiarity, how she knew exactly what Jean’s coffee would taste like before she even touched the cup.

“Oh, I was thinking Lucas. His fingerpainting is getting pretty good.”

She laughs. “Actually, I don’t hate that idea. What’s Lucas up to today?”

“He’s upstairs. Tearing something up, probably.”

“He won’t hurt anything,” Jean says. Jean made a deal with Linda after she moved back to Anniston: if Linda would have a baby, Jean would help with the childcare. Once Lucas was born, Jean’s house changed overnight into a daycare center. If Lucas gets a new toy at his house, he gets an identical toy at Grandma Jean’s.

“So, Nora,” Linda begins, “Mom mentioned something about a man in your life. What’s that about?”

She tries not to blush. “His name is Garrett. Last night, he said he’s not dating anyone else, so I think it’s getting serious.”

“You’re kidding!” Linda says. “That sounds romantic.”

“Well, it might have been, but I was surprised, so I probably didn’t react in the best way.”

“Why were you surprised?” Jean asks.

Nora covers her face with one hand. “I hadn’t thought about it. I don’t know.”

“You hadn’t thought about the future?” Linda asks.

“I don’t think so,” she says, standing up from the table. She takes the carafe out of the old green coffeemaker and refills her tiny cup. She’ll never understand why old people can’t get normal-size coffee cups like everybody else.

“Well, you’re not getting any younger, Eleanora,” Jean says.

“Don’t listen to her,” Linda says. “You have plenty of time.”

“I have a question,” Jean says, sitting down at the table, which lets Nora know she’s getting ready to tell it like it is. “What does your future look like to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have plans? For your career, maybe? Do you want to get married? Do you want to buy a new lamp? Maybe some new shoes? Those have seen better days.”

“I do need to go to Target,” Nora says, looking down at her flats.

“Don’t pressure her, Mom,” Linda says. “She’s doing fine, considering the past year.”

“She used to have all sorts of plans,” Jean says. “That’s all I’m trying to say.”

“I guess I did,” Nora says, swirling the spoon around in her cup. “I was good with numbers, so I became a financial adviser. I thought Charlie and I would get married and have a family, since that’s what Charlie said he wanted. None of it happened, so I guess I wasn’t too good at it.”

Charlie had plans from the day they met. He always knew what his future looked like. He was destined for suburbia and a white picket fence, not dead parents and a casket store. When Nora thinks of kids, she thinks of the tiny caskets she has seen too many times in her life. That wouldn’t happen to their kids, Charlie had said. Nora was worrying for nothing. She was always worried for nothing.

Jean gives her a look over her glasses. “Now, that’s a load of bull. Excuse me, Lord, but he knows it’s true, too. You’re just letting life hit you one way or another.”

“I’m not letting life do anything.”

“That boy wandered into your store and asked you out. I bet he makes all the plans, too.”

Nora thinks about it, and even though she would love to contradict Jean, she’s not wrong. Garrett has initiated everything so far. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It really doesn’t,” Linda says.

“Maybe not.” Jean shrugs. “Or maybe you won’t have to blame yourself for much if something happens.”

“Jean, I came over here for gossip, not a lecture.”

Jean almost smiles. “I threw it in for free.”

“Well, I’m done with that, and now I want gossip.”

“Why don’t you ask Linda about her gossip?” Jean asks.

“What did you do?” Nora asks.

Linda stands from the table to put her cup in the sink. “I’m surprised you haven’t heard. I might have acted out a bit at choir practice.”

“It was a mutiny,” Jean says. She points at Linda. “You’re looking at the new choir director.”

Nora’s jaw drops. This must have been what they were arguing about when she walked in. Betty Holt has been the choir director at the First Baptist Church of Rabbittown since she appointed herself in the 1970s. “Is Betty dead? Surely I would’ve heard.”

“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re implying,” Linda says. She leans back against the counter. “You know Betty wants to sing those same songs over and over, even if they sound terrible. She was telling us what we were going to sing next Sunday, and I simply asked if we could change things up.”

“Then Linda pointed out that the choir’s rendition of ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ sounds like the screeching of stray cats,” Jean says.

Nora laughs. “That’s the Lord’s own truth. It also lasts for twenty minutes.”

“And I thought everyone already knew that!” Linda says. “It’s been terrible since we were kids. Apparently, Betty didn’t know. She said some things and then got upset and stormed off the stage.”

“It was time for Betty to retire anyway,” Jean says. “No one wanted to tell her.”

“Then they voted for the new choir director, and somehow I won,” Linda says.

“And you agreed to it?” Nora asks.

“Well, of course she did,” Jean says. “Girl needs to fix everything, and apparently it’s the choir that needs fixing this week.”

Linda rolls her eyes. “How hard can it be, honestly? It’s not like I’ve gotta write the hymnal.”

“I can’t think of the last time I’ve been this excited for church,” Nora says.

“Join the choir!” Linda says. “We need you.”

“No one needs me anywhere near a microphone.”

“Do I need to remind you of the screeching cats? You’ll fit right in.”

“You say that now.”

“Your mama never missed a chance to sing in the choir,” Jean says. “It’s family tradition.”

“How about if I say I’ll think about it? I want to see what you’re like as a director first.”

“I give it a month,” Jean says. “Betty will be back.”

“You don’t think I can do it?” Linda asks. She looks at Jean the same way Jean looks at anyone who sasses her.

“I think you can do it,” Jean says. “I just don’t think you want to.”

“I agreed to it, didn’t I?” Linda asks.

“In the heat of the moment,” Jean says. “You’re just like your daddy.”

“She’s just like you,” Nora says to Jean. “Who else could oust Betty Holt? Only someone related to you.”

“I didn’t oust her!” Linda says. “She just got her feelings hurt.”

“Whatever you say.” Nora shrugs. “I wasn’t there.”

Linda narrows her eyes. “I’m going to check on Lucas.”

“Be that way,” Jean says.

After Linda leaves the room, Jean shakes her head. “I don’t know why the two of you have to make things so complicated for yourselves.”

“We just want to keep you on your toes,” Nora says. She reaches across the table to pat Jean’s hand. “You would be bored otherwise.”

Jean lowers her chin to look at Nora over her glasses. “I’d like to give that option a try.”

—

Nora only has one appointment this afternoon, so she has plenty of time to think about what Jean said that morning. What does it mean that she’s not making plans anymore? Is she really leaving everything up to chance? Up to Garrett? It does take the pressure off Nora, so that nothing will be her fault if things go wrong. Jean is always right, and Nora hates when she’s right about something that involves her.

Garrett calls later from a place he claims is past Rabbittown.

“There is nothing past Rabbittown. Your life is in danger.”

“I’m safe in my car at the moment,” he says.

“What could you possibly have to do out there?”

“One of our clients is out this way, and I have to make an appearance.”

“What do you have to do?”

“It’s just a meeting. Nothing exciting.”

They sit in silence for a moment, and Nora realizes that this could be the time to take initiative. “Hey, Garrett?”

“Hey, Nora.”

She laughs and decides to go for it before she makes things weirder. “Can I see you this weekend?”

“Sure. What do you want to do?”

Was she supposed to have something in mind? “I don’t know.”

“You’re not great at this.” He laughs.

“I’m trying!”

“You should come up with the plan and then ask me out. That’s the general formula.” She can sense that he’s enjoying her slight discomfort.

“Well, I did it this way. I’m not as smooth as you.”

“You’re better than you think,” he says. “What about Friday after work?”

“I’m free,” she says.

“What about Saturday?”

“I’m free then, too. Whichever is better for you.”

“What about both days?” he asks.

Is it too eager to agree to a whole weekend? She doesn’t want to scare him away. She wants to pull him close. To keep moving forward like a normal couple does. But the closeness is scary, too, in a different way.

“Nora?” he asks, interrupting her thought process.

“Sorry,” she says. “Yes, both days would be good for me.”