Chapter 15
Nora spirals. The days run together. She drinks a lot. She cries a lot. She eats a lot of macaroni and cheese. Sometimes she opens the store. Sometimes she sits on her back porch instead. Sometimes she tries the running thing again. This is the worst sort of breakup. Nora could see perfect life right there in front of her, but she couldn’t reach it.
She decides to go to church, mostly because she doesn’t want her grandpa showing up at her house for a wellness check but also because she feels a little guilty for the Sundays she missed when she was with Garrett. She wears one of her black dresses and a cardigan, along with a swipe of mascara and her hair pulled back into a ponytail.
Her grandpa is helping greet people at the door, so Nora gives him a hug and continues past him without much conversation. She sits down next to Jean in her usual third-row seat.
“Girl, you look like death.”
“Thank you,” Nora says, flipping through the program. “That’s the look I was going for.”
“No word from Garrett?” Jean wears a lavender pantsuit to match her lavender nails.
“Nope.”
“It’s not 1950. Call him yourself if you want to talk to him.”
“Who says I want to talk to him?”
“That hairdo. When was the last time you brushed it?”
Nora narrows her eyes. “I’m going to sit somewhere else.”
“No, you’re not. You wouldn’t risk having to talk to someone else.”
Nora sighs. She looks around as the choir walks single file down the center aisle, led by Linda in a bright pink dress with bright pink heels to match. She glows from either the pride or the power of leading the First Baptist Church of Rabbittown Choir, or maybe from a little of both.
Nora notices Betty Holt sitting in the back of the sanctuary with her arms crossed, trying to look anywhere else but the choir. “I see Betty is still mad.”
“She’ll likely die that way,” Jean says. She shakes her head. “Linda is enjoying this too much.”
As the choir files into the rows of the loft, they take the white binders from their seats and flip to the first song. Linda moves into her position at the front and waits for the pianist to start playing.
“She looks hot, though,” Nora whispers to Jean. “That has to be worth something.”
“This is church, not a nightclub,” Jean says, swatting Nora’s leg with her program.
Nora pretends to wince. “Maybe we should turn it into a nightclub.”
“Hush.”
Nora’s grandpa takes the seat next to her, and she forces a smile as the pianist begins to play “Take My Hand, Precious Lord.” Why had she chosen to attend a Baptist church today? She should have gone to the megachurch in the city, so she didn’t have to hear a word about Death. It would have been all hope and joy and perseverance through troubles.
Through the storm, through the night
Lead me on to the light
Nora makes it to the second verse before she lets herself think about Garrett taking people’s hands and leading them home. Is she really going to do this for the rest of her life? Think about Garrett every time anyone mentions death? It’s going to be a little annoying, since she sells caskets for a living.
Take my hand, precious Lord
Lead me home
Linda waves her hands in the elegant way that would tell a person with musical talent how to sing this song. Nora has no musical talent, but she gets a little lost in the rhythm of Linda’s arms, in the gentleness of their motion. Maybe Linda was just proving a point when she took the job as choir director, but she is made for it.
Nora doesn’t know where her mind is when Jean reaches over and places her hand on top of hers.
“It’s going to be all right, you know.”
“How do you know?”
“Trust an old woman when she tells you something.”
Nora smiles. “Whatever you say, Jean.”
Sometime the next week, Nora starts going into work more regularly. Eventually, she gets the store back on schedule and decides to throw herself into work for a change. She’s heard it helps other people. She organizes the back closet. She picks up some paint samples from Home Depot. She’s staring at a wall that she’s swiped with four terrible options when the phone rings.
“Rabbittown Casket Company, how can I help you?”
“Hey, this is Johnny.”
“What’s up?” He’s usually calling to give Nora a hard time about something she suggested to a customer. She thinks he would be the happiest person of all if she closed the store and left Rabbittown for good.
“Are you still going to the conference this week?”
She pauses for a moment to think and to remember what week it is. “Uh, yeah. I am. I’m going Wednesday and Thursday.”
“Are you staying in Birmingham?”
“Where is this conversation going?” She’s not in the habit of sharing personal information with rude people.
“I was calling to see if you wanted to ride together.”
“Oh.”
“I’m just trying to be nice, Clanton. You can say no.”
“Sorry, I’m just surprised.” She can’t imagine that being in a car with Johnny would be very pleasant, but this is one of those things she knows her parents would have encouraged, and she doesn’t think she can say no. “Yes, I am staying in Birmingham, and I would like a ride. Are you offering to drive?”
She can hear his mocking grin through the phone. “I sure ain’t calling to beg you for a ride. Will your car even make it to Birmingham?”
“My car will be alive long after all of us are gone.”
“Whatever you say. I’ll pick you up at your little shop Wednesday morning at seven. Don’t be late.”
“I’ll see if I can manage it.”
Nora hadn’t thought too much about the conference, mostly because it doesn’t involve Garrett or her broken heart. She’s sure Johnny has some sort of agenda for wanting to spend time with her, but maybe it will be nice to be around a man who has made his distaste for her existence abundantly clear over the years. She’ll already know where she stands and what he means, and she can leave the magnifying glass and decoder ring at home.
Packing for the conference, she remembers why she doesn’t go to these things. What professional clothes should she wear to sit in rooms while other people make her feel bad about how she does her job? What notebook should she use to jot down notes that she will likely never look at again? She settles for simplicity: black on black.
Nora pours a glass of wine and lies down on the couch to watch television, but her mind drifts to her dad’s award. If he were here to accept it on his own behalf, he would have a whole speech prepared. It would probably start with a joke. It would be self-deprecating. He would manage to take no credit for anything while thanking everyone else individually for everything they do. She doesn’t think her dad cared too much about awards, but he did like attention. He would have enjoyed this. They would have gone as a family. Her mom would have packed a bag full of snacks for the car ride, even though it only takes an hour and a half to get there.
Being on a stage is pretty much the worst thing Nora can imagine. Right up there with speaking on someone else’s behalf. She figures she should probably jot a few words down, so she doesn’t look like a deer in headlights, but she can’t imagine the audience will expect much from her. It’s not lost on anyone that she’s no Billy Clanton.
A dream about Garrett wakes her up at three a.m. on Wednesday, so she is plenty able to get to the store before Johnny. She and her bag sit outside the front door to wait. This gives her just enough time to dissect the dream: Garrett shows up to her house in one of his suits and says everything she needs to hear before it turns into a run-of-the-mill sex dream. She’s trying to remember the details when she’s interrupted by a honk.
“Let’s go, Clanton,” Johnny calls through the open window of his truck. He drives what Nora would describe as a big black truck, but it probably has some sort of magical powers that only rich people can access.
“Good morning to you, too,” she says as she takes the passenger seat.
“Last chance to back out.”
“Just drive.”
They make it to the interstate before she decides she can’t stand it anymore. “What in God’s name is this music?”
“I didn’t think Rabbittown would be too good for country.”
She starts pushing buttons on the radio before he swats her hand away.
“Hey, my car, my music.”
“What if we just turn it off?”
“You want to drive in silence?”
“We could talk. Like normal people.”
He glances at her as if she might be trying to trick him into something. “Fine. What would you like to talk about?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “How’s your family?”
“Fine. Next question.”
“You could put in a little effort.”
He drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Parents are fine. They’re all but retired and spend most of their time at the country club or on vacation.”
“How are Missy and Danny?” His younger siblings are both older than Nora, but she used to hear about them from her parents. Danny dated a few of the cheerleaders in Nora’s grade at school.
“Missy is good. Lives in Birmingham with her husband and is about to have a baby. Danny is always a wild card. I’m sure you’ve heard.”
Danny got injured playing football in high school and wound up with an addiction to pain pills. “I haven’t heard much. My gossip comes from old people at church.”
“I think he’s doing all right. He’s in some sort of halfway house. He has a job.”
“That must be a lot to deal with,” she says. “I can’t imagine.”
“It is what it is.”
“So, you’ve got the store to yourself?”
“Just me and the dead folks. Your turn to talk.”
She laughs. “Not much to tell. I’m sure whatever you’ve heard is true.”
“I heard you have a new boyfriend. Some dude with a Mercedes.”
Is this what it feels like to be stabbed? A sharp pain followed by a dull ache that feels like it will last forever.
“We broke up, so there’s not much to tell.”
“What happened?”
“We liked each other fine, but all the other stuff got in the way. He travels a lot for work. I live in the boonies.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It is what it is.”
He smirks, and for a brief moment, she understands how he gets so many pretty girls to like him. The curls, the asshole personality, that smirk. Nora figures he has girls in their twenties waiting in line to be the one who can melt his cold heart.
“Do you date a lot?”
“Who would I date?” she asks. “Small-town casket lady doesn’t exactly attract most men. If there were any single men around.”
“That’s what Tinder is for. Or Bumble. I’ve never seen you on there.”
“And you never will.”
“So, you have something against all dating, or is it just the apps?”
“I have something against meeting someone like you who pretends to be super interested in everything about me until you get me into bed and then never calls me again.”
“You’re thinking too hard about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s just meeting people. You don’t need to have an agenda.”
“I don’t need any more terrible experiences with men, and I’m too old to spend my nights in bars.”
“But surely you like to have sex. You can use it for that.”
This catches her off guard. “I do like sex. I don’t like to have it with strangers.”
He nods. “I guess I understand that.”
“I doubt you do, but that’s okay.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. You just have a reputation for lovin’ and leavin’, if you will.”
He rolls his eyes. “Two sides to every story, Clanton.”
Johnny changes lanes to pass an eighteen-wheeler at high speed on a bridge over Logan Martin Lake. Nora didn’t expect to fear for her life this soon.
“Well, we’ve got time. What’s your side?”
He takes a deep breath. “Look, sometimes I’m just not interested. Why should I have to pretend to be interested? How long do I have to drag it out?”
Nora thinks about this for a moment.
“I made you mad, didn’t I?” he asks.
“I’m just thinking. I feel like the problem is when you pretend you’re interested in the beginning. Why do you do that?”
“I am interested in the beginning. She’s pretty. She can take a joke. Whatever the case may be. Then we go out, and it’s not right.”
“So, why do you sleep with her if it’s not right?”
“Sometimes it takes the sex for me to realize it’s not right.”
“Sometimes?”
He smirks. “Sometimes I want to sleep with her, but I don’t want to talk to her again. You can’t tell me that you’ve been ready to marry every person you’ve ever slept with.”
“No comment,” Nora says.
“All right, I’ll put it this way: I bet you’ve met someone who was attractive enough or fun enough to sleep with, but not all there up here.” He taps the side of his head with his finger. “I think it’s fine if you see the situation for what it is and then move on sooner than later.”
“I’ll agree with you to a certain extent. I just think it would be easier if you didn’t come on so strongly in the beginning. What happened to that last girl? The blond one who used to come to services sometimes. She seemed nice.”
He shrugs. “She was nice. She wanted to get married, and I didn’t.”
“To her or in general?”
“Are you a shrink or something?” he asks with a laugh. “I didn’t want to marry her . Can we change the subject? Or do you have any other exes you want to talk about?”
“No,” she laughs. “We can change the subject. How’s work?”
Nora and Johnny spend the rest of the drive talking about work, which isn’t the worst thing, since most people would prefer talking about anything but her job. Johnny gets it, though. Neither of them has to explain anything. She didn’t realize how lucky her parents were to have each other until she was running the store alone.
Signs for the National Funeral Directors Society Annual Conference begin as soon as they enter the parking deck. There are stickers on the ground, giant posters on the walls, and arrows on every surface, pointing to the entrance to the convention center. Nora isn’t sure if it’s because people who work in the funeral industry need extra help with directions or if the organizers want to encourage the general public to join. All of the signs use the acronym “NFDS,” which seems less enticing than the actual conference of funeral directors. Maybe there are people in the world who are interested in joining the world’s most boring-sounding cult. Weirder things have happened, particularly to Nora.
The acronyms stop when they step into the convention center. Nora and Johnny walk past six full-size caskets and past the smattering of vendors pushing flyers and business cards into their hands before they even get to the reception desk. They each give their name to the personable women at the desk, and they are handed two MarketingFunerals.com lanyards so they can wear the name tags where everyone can see them.
“Get your ribbons over here,” Margie (according to her name tag) says. She leads them down the table to a row of tiny ribbons to attach to their name tags; the bits of cloth denote things like “First-Time Attendee,” “Presenter,” or “Officer.”
“We’re good.” Johnny ushers Nora in front of him and away from the table. He takes the pamphlets of vendor information she has accumulated and drops them into the first trash can he sees. “I hate these things.”
“Why did you come?” Nora asks.
“These are my people, obviously.” He gestures to the crowd of sixty-year-old men ahead of them, all holding to-go coffee cups and laughing as if someone has just told the world’s best joke.
They manage to find seats for the welcome ceremony pretty quickly, and Nora scans the program for sessions that might be interesting.
“Too bad this isn’t online so you could search for ‘caskets’ and be done with it,” Johnny says with his signature smirk.
“I know that’s a dig at me, but you’re right. It should have been online. For the environment.”
“Killing people and the environment. When will we be stopped?”
Nora looks around the room the way she always does at these things; as Johnny just pointed out, they’re surrounded by old white men. There are a few women and fewer people of color sprinkled through the crowd. Johnny and Nora are two of the youngest people in the room.
“Searching for your next one-night stand?”
She gives him a look. “I don’t think anyone here is having any sort of stand tonight.”
“People hook up at these things all the time. We’ll have to check out the hotel bar later.”
Nora doesn’t really know how to respond to this, because she knew Johnny was her ride to the conference, but she did not know they would be spending the day together. They’ve already spoken more words to each other today than they have in their whole lives.
“I might be too tired from all of the festivities.”
“I actually think you’ll be needing a drink if you attend ‘Embalming: Thriving Beyond Surviving.’?”
“That’s not real,” she says.
He points it out in the book. “And here is a panel about decorative urns.”
“Maybe you should go to some of these intense ones. ‘Five Keys to Facial Reconstruction’ or ‘Cremation for Dummies.’?”
“I should really go to some of these about finance. I don’t know shit about all that. And I don’t care to.”
“I actually know a lot of shit about finance, if you ever want to compare notes. It’s the rest of it that I don’t know.”
“I’m probably going to take you up on that.”
“Well, if we can help each other, then we can go ahead and leave. This is useless.”
“Nope,” Johnny says. “One of us has an award to accept. I’m as shocked as you are that it isn’t me.”
Nora rolls her eyes.
“Did you write your speech?”
“Do I really have to give a speech?”
He cocks his head to one side. “Hell yeah, you have to give a speech. It’s what everyone came for. Give the people what they want, Clanton.”
“Speeches are not my thing.”
“You’re lucky I’m here.”
“Since when are you a public speaker?”
“Since I’m the only hope you’ve got and the most charming person in this room.”
“I’m sure,” she says.
He leans in to whisper: “Once these people hear you’re Billy’s daughter, they’ll be done for. I’d probably hide that name tag, too, unless you want a fan club.”
Nora flips her name tag over. She knows he’s probably messing with her, but just in case, she would like to avoid the attention.
The welcome ceremony lasts about thirty minutes longer than needed. They hear from every member of the board of directors. A bald man in a chestnut suit makes a speech to remind the group that the customer is always right. A man with a Santa Claus beard gives a few tips on how to put the “fun” in “funeral.” When he suggests that they should play popular music like Usher and Pitbull, Johnny squeezes Nora’s arm.
Once they’re finally free, they both decide to attend some marketing workshops. Nora tries to take it seriously, but Johnny mocks everything the instructors suggest.
“Why did you come if you weren’t going to listen?” Nora asks after they leave the second workshop and pick up the sandwich boxes provided for lunch. Johnny locates two easy chairs in the hallway so they don’t have to make conversation with other people during their break.
“The better question is: Why did I pay money for them to tell me things I already know? That lady didn’t have a lick of sense. Maybe I should have put the money for this conference into our marketing budget.”
“You should be more open-minded,” Nora says, even though he’s right in this one instance.
“She legit said to put up signs. Signs. As if anybody at this conference doesn’t have a sign.”
“Which one are you going to next?” Nora asks, holding the booklet open so he can see the options.
He huffs out some of his frustration. “I need to go to the cremation one, probably.”
“I think I’m going to go to the customer relations one.”
He scoffs. “You don’t need any help with that. You go to the cremation one and take notes for me and let me go to the customer relations one.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“All I ever hear is how good you are with customers: ‘Nora is so sweet.’ ‘Nora helped us so much.’ ‘Maybe I should call and ask Nora.’?”
“News to me. I’m not that good with people. Maybe I’m just better than you are.”
“That’s not a surprise to anyone. Okay, time to find out how long to smoke the meat.”
“Johnny!”
He stands up. “I’ll find you later.”
As Nora watches him disappear into the crowd, she tries to wrap her head around the past few months. She never thought any of this could happen. She never thought she would be happy again after she moved home. She never expected to meet Garrett or fall in love. She didn’t think she would ever move on. Now she’s in some sort of weird friendship with someone who has always hated her. This is probably what those greeting cards mean when they say: “God works in mysterious ways.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “Make plans and God laughs.”
Nora attends a couple of seminars on how to deal with grieving families and decides that Johnny was a little bit right. “Grieving and Spiritual Hygiene” is a tad too woo-woo for her taste. She doesn’t think she’ll be burning sage or speaking words over a customer anytime soon, but she’s glad to hear there are options out there. “Customer Retention in the Funeral Space” provides a few good suggestions on how to follow up with customers, but her parents did that the old-fashioned way—by calling them on the telephone. One perk of a small business is that Nora can reach out to all of her customers directly. Most of the time, she actually cares to find out how they’re doing. It’s not a ploy for more business. She doesn’t need to pay a vendor to set up mailings or email lists. Does anyone really want a postcard from a casket company?
Coming out of the bathroom, she runs into Johnny.
“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” she says. His hair is all over the place, and his whole body droops as if it’s slowly melting.
“I didn’t realize how boring my job was until I heard these people talking about it.”
Nora and Johnny follow the crowd of people, assuming they’re all heading toward the exit.
“Johnny Chandler!” someone shouts over the crowd.
“Hey, Larry,” Johnny calls, as a short, balding man comes barreling toward him. Johnny reaches out a hand, but Larry pulls him in for a hug instead.
“I better see you at the driving range tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there. I figured you’d come find me if I didn’t sign up.”
“You’re right about that. It’s tradition.” When he turns to Nora, she can make out the Prestige logo on his polo shirt. “You can’t be here with this guy.”
“And yet, here I am,” Nora says.
“This is Nora Clanton,” Johnny says. “We carpooled.”
“Wait, you’re Billy’s daughter?” His tone is almost accusatory.
“That’s me.”
“I was so sorry to hear about that. I’m glad to see you here.”
“We all are, Larry.” Johnny cranes his neck as if looking for someone. “We’ve actually gotta go meet someone, but let’s catch up tomorrow.”
Larry pats him a little too intensely on the back. “You’ve got the first round.”
“You can count on it.”
“Who are we meeting?” Nora asks after Larry disappears into the crowd.
“Anybody but him.”
“How do you know him?”
“He’s at all these things. Knows my dad. The usual.”
“And he works for Prestige?”
“Yep. Loves it. Makes a ton of money.”
Nora rolls her eyes. “I’m sure he does.”
“Can we leave now?” Johnny asks.
“Sure. You look like you need a nap.” Nora follows him toward the door, moving along with practically everyone else in the building.
“I need more than a nap.”
“Do you need a casket?” she asks, gesturing at the six caskets ahead of them, next to the registration table. “That blue one looks like your taste.”
He smirks. “You trying to make a sale, Clanton?”
“Always be closing, Chandler.”
They walk between the caskets to get out the door, and Johnny stops to run his hand over the pale blue casket. “Make your case.”
Nora holds in her laughter. She knows how to sell a casket. “This model is top of the line. From far away you might think it’s metal, but it’s actually high-quality wood that’s been primed and painted this sky-blue color. Personally, I think this color skews a bit too gray if you’re going to use the gold hardware. Good news is that this whole thing is custom, so we can do better.”
Nora walks around to examine the interior. Some people in the crowd pause curiously, but no one cares enough to stopcompletely. “We can do better here, too. The ivory color makessense, but this is not real velvet. This is also a dated design. The ruching is a little much. You might bury a founding father in this.”
“You don’t like the French design?” He runs his hands over the velvet on the lid.
“I prefer to support American designers, Johnny.”
He smiles beyond a smirk this time, using his whole face for once.
“What?” Nora says.
He shakes his head. “I’ve always wondered how you get so much of my business, but I’ve never had a pretty girl try to sell me a casket. Now I understand.”
“Was that a compliment? From you?”
“Don’t let it go to your head. Let’s go.”
They walk down the corridor to the parking deck to get their bags to take to the hotel, which also connects to the parking deck.
“How did you know that velvet was fake?” Johnny asks.
“Some of the smaller hardware was plastic. It was mostly a guess.”
“This is what I get for not having models in the store.”
“I can teach you about caskets, and you can teach me about cremation. How was that session?”
“I didn’t know there could be so many questions about burning a body.”
“I’m imagining you in the back of the room, mumbling under your breath.”
“By the end of it, I was ready to volunteer to be the example.”
Nora laughs.
“You know,” Johnny says, “you’re the only person I know who laughs at these jokes.”
“You’re the only person I know who would make these jokes.”
They smile at each other as they reach the truck. He hands Nora her bag.
“What do you have in here, Clanton? It’s one night.”
“None of your business.”
He passes her the handle of the smallest rolling suitcase she’s ever seen. “I can’t let you carry that.”
“I can carry my own bag, Johnny. I packed it.”
He takes the bag off her shoulder and puts it over his. “Get over it. I’ve had a long day.”
Nora rolls her eyes, but he doesn’t see because he’s already walking toward the hotel entrance. There are more NFDS signs leading them inside, as if otherwise they couldn’t find the hotel’s reception desk. Johnny and Nora wait in line behind other conference-goers wearing their MarketingFunerals.com lanyards. Johnny yanks his lanyard over his head and then does the same to Nora’s. He slides both of them into the side pocket of her bag. They check in and head to the elevator.
“What floor did you get?” Nora asks.
“Eight. You?”
“Nine.”
“We should have gotten adjoining rooms.” They slide into a car with what feels like half the conference attendees.
“That doesn’t seem like a great idea.”
An older man they do not know replies, “Seems like you should get her in your actual room, not the adjoining one.”
“Jim!” says a woman in an extremely southern accent.
“What? She’s a pretty girl. What happens in Birmingham stays in Birmingham, Julie.”
Nora forces her mouth closed and prays for the elevator to make it to nine without ceasing. The doors open on the fourth floor, and all of the other passengers besides Julie and Jim shuffle away from this situation as fast as they can.
“You’re ruining my chances,” Johnny says to Julie when the doors close.
Nora looks at him as if he’s lost his mind. “Excuse me?”
“No use denying it, Clanton.”
The elevator dings for the eighth floor.
“Go to your room.” She shoves his suitcase toward him and takes her bag from his shoulder. He struts into the hallway and out of sight.
“He’s cute,” Julie says.
“He’s something,” Nora says.
“I sense the chemistry between the two of you.” She and Jim give each other a knowing glance; Nora has never been more thankful for elevator doors to open on her floor.
“Johnny has chemistry with everybody. Have a good night.”
“You, too!”
Nora finds her room, and she’s comforted when she sees the two queen beds waiting. She could have gotten a king, but she likes having the extra bed so she can lay out all of her things. It’s sort of like the chair in the corner of her bedroom, but big enough to display multiple outfits at one time. Nora unpacks her toiletry products and spreads them along the counter in the bathroom. Her skin-care regimen will be ready when she needs it. Hours from now. Is it only five?
She lies down on the bed closest to the window and soaks up the silence. This is the first moment of the day when she really thinks of Garrett. What is he doing? Who is he with? Has he thought of her at all? She feels that emptiness in her heart, claiming the spot he used to fill. She wishes he were lying next to her.
Nora has been through this before, and she knows that these feelings will go away. She doesn’t think about any of the other guys she’s dated. This one feels different, though. Worse. But don’t they all? She knows that one day she’ll make it through a whole day without seeing his face in her mind. A whole day without remembering what it was like to kiss him or to feel him next to her at night. Eventually, it will be like it never happened.
Someone knocks at the door. She gets up and looks out the peephole: Johnny is standing there with one hand in his pocket like some sort of model in a cologne ad.
Nora opens the door. “How did you know which room was mine?”
“I knocked until you answered,” he says, strolling in like he owns the place.
“Really?”
He plops down on the bed closest to the door and rearranges the pillows so he can lean against the headboard. “No, I saw the number on that thing.” He gestures to the room-key envelope on the desk.
“Are we going to bed at five, or can we get a drink?” he asks.
“What did you have in mind?” She wants to tell him to get his shoes off the bed, but it’s not her bedspread, so she tries not to care.
“I’d like to go to a real restaurant with a real bar, but I’ll settle for downstairs.”
“Are you asking me to go out with you?”
“In a literal sense, yes. Go out from this boring hotel.”
“I guess that’s fine.”
“You have another date I don’t know about?”
She looks over at him, and of course he has that smirk. “Nope. I’m stuck with you.”
He nags her while she touches up her hair and makeup, but she takes her time. Nora hasn’t been to Birmingham in so long, and she misses it. Or she misses the person she was when she lived in Birmingham. Either way, she wants to look her best. She wants to eat trendy food and stay out late and regret all of it in the morning. She wants to step back into her old life as if she never left it.
“Where do you want to go?” she asks, as they step out of the hotel and into the waning light.
“I want to walk around for a bit.” He turns to the left and starts walking. She tries to keep up, but he doesn’t seem to care either way.
“I forgot it was still early,” Nora says. The streets around them are full of rush-hour traffic; Nora can’t think of the last time she’s needed to honk her car horn.
“Because we’ve been stuck inside with people in terrible suits who make funeral jokes.”
“You’ve been making funeral jokes.”
“And I am the worst.”
“You’re telling me.”
They walk for a few blocks in comfortable silence until Johnny stops in the middle of the sidewalk.
“What about here?” He nods toward a nondescript brick building with a black front door.
“This place? I thought you wanted to go to a bar?”
“It is a bar.” He points to a tiny metal plate above the door that reads: Bar .
She scopes out the building for a moment. There are a few windows, but all she can see is her reflection.
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“You’re buying.” False confidence is key in these situations, so Nora brushes past him and flings the door open. She steps into a dark room, but once her eyes adjust, she realizes it’s not scary at all. The brick wall behind the bar is the only decoration in the room. The other walls are taupe. The bar, tables, and chairs are shiny dark wood.
Two men sit at the bar drinking beer, but not together. Nora walks up between them, and the Sam Malone wannabe—aren’t they all?—places a napkin in front of her.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
“I’ll have an old-fashioned. He’s paying,” she says, pointing her thumb in Johnny’s direction.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” Johnny says.
The bartender tells them to sit wherever they like, so Nora chooses a booth against the windows. Johnny slides in across from her with a weird look on his face.
“What?”
“I never thought I’d see you in a place like this.”
“In a bar?”
“In a bar like this.”
“What does that mean?”
“I figured you for a girl who likes pink drinks with weird names.”
“Maybe you don’t know me that well.”
“Maybe not.”
The bartender brings their drinks to the table.
“I’m sure he could make you something pink if you want it,” she says to Johnny. The bartender looks confused but not unwilling.
“I’ll pass,” Johnny says. “Maybe later.”
“Sure thing,” the bartender says before walking back to the bar.
“Why did you suggest this place if you thought I wouldn’t like it?” She swirls her straw around the one giant ice cube floating in her glass.
“Trying to keep you on your toes.”
“Well, I prefer the quiet. For future reference.”
“I’ll file that away for the next time we’re at a death conference.”
Nora laughs. “What was your favorite part?”
“Probably when we were in the marketing session, and you wrote ‘update signage’ in your little notebook.”
“I came to this conference to learn something.”
He leans back in the booth. “Your store has been there for a hundred years. You sell one product—”
“We sell a variety of products, I’ll have you know.”
“It’s a box for a dead person. It goes in the ground, and you never see it again. Most folks want to know as little about it as possible.”
“Maybe one day we’ll have a sale or something. Buy one, get one.”
He laughs. “Have you ever had a sale?”
“We’re under new management now. Anything is possible.”
“How are you finding it?”
“Running the store?”
“Yeah. Being back in Rabbittown and all.”
“It’s fine.” She could leave it at that, but she goes on: “It’s not where I thought I would be, but it’s in my blood, I guess.”
“I don’t know if I ever actually said sorry about your parents. I am sorry. Truly. They were good people.”
“Thank you. Them being gone might’ve helped your business a bit.”
He looks stunned for an instant before the smirk takes over his face. “I’d rather beat you fair and square.”
“I don’t cater to your demographic, so you shouldn’t have any trouble with sales.”
“Well, let’s hear it, Business School. What’s my demographic?” He downs half of his gin and tonic, then sits the glass back down on the ring of condensation on his napkin.
“People on your side of town. The ones who play tennis at the country club while the help watches the kids.”
“What’s your problem with money, Clanton?”
“I don’t have a problem with anything.”
“My family worked hard to get where they are. I’m not going to apologize for it.”
She laughs. “Are you not the ‘Chandler’ in Chandler Farms?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“I don’t think anyone would pay top dollar to get married in my family homestead unless they’re looking for dirt floors.”
“Say whatever it is you’re trying to say.”
She leans back against the booth. “It’s just difficult to take your hard-work mentality seriously when you’ve got a plantation down the road. That’s all.”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to justify my work ethic to you.”
“I didn’t say anything about your work ethic. You seem to be running the place on your own.”
“Is it my turn?”
“Go for it.”
Johnny crosses his arms. “This probably works against my own interests, but why haven’t you thought about expanding?”
“I don’t think I want to.”
“I’m no scholar, but seems to me, the more you can charge, the more you’ll make. You’ve got a ceiling now. They buy the one thing and leave.”
“Maybe I should copy you and start upcharging for things like starting a PowerPoint or pushing play on a CD player?”
He holds both hands up. “Look, I’m just telling you the truth.”
“I don’t think I’m cut out for it.” She takes a sip of her drink to mask the icky feeling of telling the truth.
“Then why keep the place? Why not sell it?”
“Who would buy it? Prestige?”
“I might,” he says.
Nora puts her drink back on the table with a little more force than she meant to use, sloshing some of it down the side of the glass. “What?”
“I’d have to see numbers, but it’s worth looking into if you’re trying to get out.”
“Where’s the punch line?” Nora asks.
“I’m dead serious,” he says. “No pun intended.”
Selling the store has been in the back of Nora’s mind for some time, but the nature of the thing has always taken care of itself. If she didn’t have an offer, she wouldn’t sell. She wouldn’t get an offer if she didn’t put it up for sale. This might not be a real offer, but it’s enough to make her really think about the possibility.
“What would you do?” He waves at the bartender to bring another round, so she sips from the tiny red straw in her glass until it makes the slurping noise her mom had once forbidden her from making.
“If I didn’t have the store?” She feels the whiskey settling in her mostly empty stomach. Maybe she should have grabbed extra food during lunch, but at the time she hadn’t known she would be drinking liquor before dinner.
“Yeah, where would you go? You lived here for a while, didn’t you?”
She nods. “I guess I could sell the house and go wherever I want. I just don’t know that I want to go anywhere.”
“You could stay on,” Johnny says.
“Run the store for you?”
“Best-case scenario for me. You do what the Clantons do best, and I get the profits.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Think about it. We could talk about updates and renovations. Whatever you want.”
“And you’d be my boss?”
“Something like that,” he says with the smirk.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“I think we could be a good team.”
Nora doesn’t fully trust anything Johnny Chandler says, so she expects him to take all of this back at the exact moment she convinces herself to go through with it.
“Look,” he says. “I didn’t mean to turn this into anything serious. We can talk about it later. We’d have to figure out the details.”
“There’s no expiration date on this deal?”
He smiles. “I seem to be the only one interested, so I can be patient for now.”
“What would you do if you could do something else?”
“No clue. Maybe sell cars?”
“Sell cars?”
He shrugs. “I’ve always liked going to car shows and watching those guys on TV who rebuild old cars. I think I could be good at selling them.”
“Interesting. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“What was your guess?”
She tilts her head for a moment, examining him. “You do sort of look like a car salesman. I think you could do corporate life, too. One of those jobs with a vague title no one understands.” This image makes her think of Garrett. It’s like a pinprick.
“I think I’ll stick with what I’ve got,” Johnny says.
During their second round of drinks, the bar starts to get busier. The main clientele seems to be middle-aged men drinking beer, which perhaps explains the lack of décor.
During their third round, they decide they should probably eat something. They make it as far as a trendy Mexican restaurant on the next block before giving up the search.
“What is a plantain nacho?” Johnny asks once they’re at yet another booth, waiting on the pitcher of margaritas he ordered.
“If you have to ask, you won’t like it,” Nora says, scanning the menu for something that can soak up the alcohol she’s already had and the alcohol she’s about to add to it.
“I thought a plantain was a banana?”
“It looks like one.”
“Banana nachos?”
She laughs. “They make them into chips.”
“You think ‘banana chips’ sounds better? Bananas and jalape?os?”
“You don’t have to order it, Johnny. Look, they have a bacon quesadilla you can order.”
“I know you’re making fun of me, but I might get it anyway.”
“Maybe you should. I’m getting tacos.”
The waitress brings salsa and the margarita pitcher.
“What kind of place charges you for chips and salsa?” Johnny asks once she’s left the table.
“People love this place.”
“Did you come here a lot when you lived here?” He fills both of their glasses without making too much of a mess.
“I lived a few blocks from here, so we went to a lot of these places. There’s a good bar a few doors down.”
“Would you move back?”
“I don’t know. I miss parts of it, but things are different now. I’m different now, I guess.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, I used to go out a lot, and I can’t tell you the last time I’ve been out past nine.”
“Not a lot happening in Rabbittown?”
“My TV gets a lot of use.”
“Well, drink up. We’re about to change that.”
Nora should know not to count anything out when tequila is involved. By the time they’ve finished dinner, Johnny is ready for something else. She is, too. She never expected to have a night out with Johnny Chandler, but she’s having fun. She had forgotten what it was like to have friends. To wander wherever the drinks take you.
The bar down the block is almost exactly as Nora remembers it. Young people everywhere. Games at every table, but it’s too dark to play them.
“What do you want?” she shouts into his ear.
“You’re not paying.”
She takes a step closer to the bar. “Tell me or I’ll order you something pink.”
“Miller Lite. I’ll find a seat.” She almost tells him there are no seats, but he can figure that out himself.
After getting the drinks, Nora looks for him in the crowd and finds him leaning against the back wall.
“I think we’re the oldest people in here,” he says, taking his beer.
“No doubt,” she says. “That’s how I spotted you. The creepy old man in the back.”
He smiles a real smile instead of the smirk, so he must be drunk. “Would it kill you to be nice to me for five minutes?”
“It might.”
He shakes his head.
“You’re not nice to me,” she points out. A dancing couple almost falls into her, but Johnny grabs her arm to yank her out of the way.
“I think that was nice,” he says.
“I’ll give you that one.”
“I just didn’t want you to spill your drink all over me.”
“I figured you had a motive. You always do.” Nora is pretty drunk, too.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She stares at him for a moment to steady herself. “Are your eyes blue or gray?”
He tilts his head. “I don’t know. A little of both, I guess.”
“Mine are brown.”
“Obviously. You’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
“Are you going to throw up? I don’t want any part of that.”
“No, I can hold my liquor.”
“Your accent comes out when you drink.”
“Your accent is always out.”
He shrugs and drinks the rest of his beer. Nora watches him as he looks around at the crowd and then back at her. “Why are you staring at me?” he asks.
“Is all this so you can sleep with me?”
“What?”
“Are you trying to sleep with me?”
He laughs. “If I were, you’d know.”
“How?”
“We’d be at the hotel already.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Are you trying to sleep with me ?” he asks.
She considers it for a moment. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s not a no, Clanton.”
“It’s not a yes either, so don’t let it go to your head.”
He points at a guy near the bar thrusting both hands into the air without any regard for the beat of the song she’s too old to recognize.
“He’s drunker than we are,” Johnny says.
“So is she,” Nora says, pointing to a girl with her head down on the bar.
Over the next three beers, they take turns finding people drunker than they are. When they’re the two drunkest people left in the bar, they decide to go back to the hotel. Nora’s conscience tells her they probably shouldn’t walk back, but she doesn’t think she can effectively call an Uber. She hasn’t opened the app since she moved back to Rabbittown.
Johnny walks a step or two ahead, as usual. He’s singing “Strawberry Wine,” and Nora tries to fill in the words he can’t remember. He holds his arms in the air, but not like the boy in the bar. Johnny’s arms extend as far as they can go, as if he can touch every person in his imaginary crowd, as if the people in the nosebleeds can remember the hot July moon at his grandpa’s farm.
This is the moment when Nora realizes she is attracted to Johnny Chandler. He’s not hiding behind pride or sarcastic pretenses. Like anyone screaming ’90s country in downtown Birmingham, he’s vulnerable and exposed for the person he is. He’s not what she thought he was. He’s not like anyone else.
As soon as this thought crosses her mind, she knows she needs to go to sleep. She needs to get back to the hotel as fast as she can and into her room before she can do anything stupid. She starts to run. She passes Johnny in the middle of his encore, and she hears him shout, “Nora!”
“Come on!” she yells. Somehow, she hits the crosswalks perfectly, and she runs through three straight before she remembers that she’s not a runner. She’s barely a walker.
Johnny is right behind her and grabs her around the waist as she bends over to catch her breath.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” she says, gasping for air.
“You had it, Flo-Jo,” Johnny says in between breaths. “The hotel is right there.”
She looks up from her crumpled position and sees that he’s right. She only had one block to go.
“I shouldn’t have stopped.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have started.” He’s in the same position she is, trying to catch his breath, too.
“Why are you tired?”
“Chasing you!”
“You didn’t have to chase me.” Nora straightens and puts her hands on top of her head like the athletes at her high school used to do.
“My mom did say not to chase girls,” he says. He stands and takes one of her arms and pulls it along with him. “Let’sgo.”
Nora lets him take her hand, and he leads her to the hotel at a speed she can barely match. “Could you slow down?”
“Keep up, Clanton.” He drags her through the hotel lobby and doesn’t let go of her hand as he pushes the elevator button. “You made it to eleven fifty-six.”
“It’s midnight?” she asks.
“Eleven fifty-six.”
The elevator dings, and a woman wearing sequins and stilettos comes out into the lobby, pulling a man in a black suit behind her.
“Going out?” Johnny asks.
“Something like that,” the woman says. They almost miss the elevator watching her walk out of the hotel.
“Where are they going?” Nora asks as they get on the elevator.
“I don’t think we want to know.” Johnny pushes the buttons for both of their floors.
He’s still holding her hand, and she doesn’t hate it. She likes the feeling of someone else taking care of her instead of having to take care of herself. When they get to his floor, he pushes the “door close” button instead of getting off.
“That was stupid,” he says.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, I’m not just going to leave you on the elevator.”
“I know where my room is.”
The elevator dings, and the doors open. “Good, you can lead the way.”
They make it to her door, and she stares at it for a moment. “Do you think I have a key?”
He laughs. “You better have a key.”
She looks down at her dress. “I don’t have pockets.”
“You have a purse.”
He’s right. It’s slung across her body. “Oh.”
“Let me see.” He unzips it and finds the key card.
“I can do it.”
He hands it to her, and she does her best to push it into a slot at the top of the lock.
“Not like that, Clanton. Jesus.” Johnny takes the key card out of her hand and waves it in front of the lock, and the light on it turns green.
“Oh, this is a fancy lock.”
She doesn’t open the door fast enough, so he has to wave the card in front of the lock again. This time, he reaches past her and turns the handle to push the door open.
“You’re drunk,” he says.
“I know.” She takes her purse off and throws it on the second bed. “I need to wash my face.”
“Go ahead,” he says.
“You don’t have to stay.”
“So you can bust your head open and blame it on me? I don’t think so.”
She washes her face and brushes her teeth, and when she walks out of the bathroom, she’s surprised to see Johnny standing there.
“You didn’t leave.”
“Are you finished?” he asks.
“Well, I have to change, but I’m not drunk enough to do that in front of you.”
“I’ll leave. Come and lock the door behind me.”
She walks with him to the door, and he turns to face her.
“Johnny?”
“What?” He’s holding the door open with his foot.
“I don’t want to be weird, but this was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I know you’re being nice to me because I’m sad, but I don’t care at this exact moment.” He stares at her for long enough that she wonders if what she had meant to say had come out of her mouth right.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I own a very successful funeral home. Sad doesn’t faze me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever you say, Johnny.”
“Hey, Clanton?” he asks.
“What?”
He takes a step toward her and lets the door close. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Okay.”
Nora leans back against the wall, and Johnny presses his body into hers. He raises his hand and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as his other hand wraps around her waist. He leans forward, and as his lips touch hers, Nora stops breathing. Before she can have the thought, her palm is against his chest, creating space between them. She squeezes her eyes shut, as if that could make the situation go away.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t apologize.”
She takes a deep breath before meeting his eyes. His face is blank, as if he’s waiting to see her reaction. “I’m just not ready, but I wanted to be.”
“I understand,” he says, but she can’t tell if he really does.
She opens her mouth to continue, to explain that it’s not him and that he hasn’t done anything wrong, but he holds up a hand to stop her.
“Let’s talk about this when we’re sober and when it’s not the middle of the night.”
“I don’t want to leave it like this.”
His mouth quirks, revealing a bit of his usual self. “I promise to let you talk in circles all the way home, if that’s what you want to do.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“My ego is a little wounded, but I’ll bounce back.”
They smile at each other, and Nora feels their connection from earlier slipping back into place.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says. “Good night, Clanton.”
“Good night.”
She closes the door behind him, then changes her clothes and jumps into bed as fast as she can, knowing that sleep is the only thing that can keep her from thinking of Garrett.