2. Stevie
CHAPTER TWO
STEVIE
Iced coffee in one hand and a bouquet of white roses in the other, my heels clack the black asphalt of the parking lot at Nevermore Mortuary and Funeral Home. I swing the front double doors open of the business I purchased from my former employers a little over a year ago.
The soft cream wall greets me as soon as I walk into the lobby. I flip on the lights with my elbow and glance into the display room before taking a left down the hall and past the arrangement room with the large open windows.
“Hello, office.” I rest the flowers and coffee on my desk. “Ready to take care of some wonderful families today?” I say to the open air, before grabbing a glass vase from a cabinet and filling it with water. Then I take a moment to arrange the white roses.
“Good morning, Stevie!” Kristine calls out from behind. I hired Kristine as my assistant three years ago when the previous owners still owned the business. She and I worked so well together that when I bought the funeral home, I promoted her to Mortuary Assistant Director.
“Morning!” I return cheerfully as she walks into her office directly across the hall from mine.
“Did you see your nine a.m. is here already? They’re waiting in the parking lot,” she says.
“The Branson family?”
Keith Branson was a fifty-nine-year-old heart attack victim. The family is well-known around Seattle and could have had a large memorial service for him, but came to Nevermore to keep the services intimate.
“Yep! Early. I like that,” Kristine comments under her breath.
I grab the vase with the white roses. “Thanks. I’ll head outside to greet them,” I toss over my shoulder, headed back to the arrangement room. “It’s a difficult time for them, and the last thing they need is me making them wait another fifteen minutes until we open.”
“Do you have something you need to finish up?” She pops her head out. “I can let them in for you.”
“No, I got it.”
I put the bouquet in the middle of the large oak table. After a quick scan of the room to make sure the windows are open and the space feels calm and inviting, I prepare to invite the family inside.
When I open the front door, the beautiful, crisp morning air hits my cheeks. My eyes find the two cars parked right up front, and when I contact the wife, Shelly, she smiles and steps out of the driver’s side.
“Sorry, I’m here early.” Shelly’s eyes are swollen, and the dark circles under them look like ominous clouds, painting a picture of the toll grief will take on a person. “I haven’t been sleeping well since we lost Keith. My days and nights have become jumbled.”
I return a warm smile and extend my arm to shake her hand. “Please don’t apologize. Nevermore is here to serve you during this difficult time.”
“It’s nice to formally meet you, Stevie.”
“You too.”
She follows close behind me as I take her down the hall.
“If you’ll follow me, we can begin discussing the arrangements for your beloved Keith.”
“Are these sketches of headstones?” she asks, glancing at the frames on the wall.
I approach her side. “They are.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you. I like to give one to each of the families when the services are complete. I also like to keep a copy for myself as a memory of the families I’ve worked with.”
Shelly’s head turns to me. “You make them?”
I nod proudly. “Mm-hmm. I love grave rubbing.Turning these grave markers into pieces of art is just a small gesture to show I care.”
The woman’s eyes fill with tears. “My friend spoke highly of you, Stevie. Thank you for offering to take care of Keith for us.”
My heart swells. To bring light to someone’s life during an incredibly dark time gives me purpose and makes me believe I’m part of something bigger than simply myself.
And it’s the only way I know how to deal with the death of my mother.
“It’s my honor.” I gesture behind her toward the arrangement room.
“These are beautiful,” she compliments the roses as she sits down in the chair at the end of the table.
I grab Keith’s file from the cabinet, then take the seat next to her. “They’re for you to take home after our meeting today.”
She plucks a tissue from the black box next to the flowers and gently dabs both eyes. “Thank you.”
I thumb through the paperwork and files, pulling out the documents that pertain to Keith’s after-death care and services. “As you know, Keith was prepared and extremely organized. He left very little for your family to decide.”
She chuckles through her pain. “He was. When I sent you his file last week, I knew we wouldn’t have much to discuss.”
“Yes. It makes things easier,” I offer. “And less for you to worry about during this difficult time.”
Shelly’s gaze rests on the crumpled-up tissue in her lap. “I’m sure it’s hard for you to go through this every day. Like being drained all the time.”
I play with the corner of the paper, as this is a common conversation with clients. They genuinely wonder how anyone could work in an industry like this—so full of death and sadness. But this life chose me. Not the other way around.
“Yeah, it definitely has its moments,” I admit. “But it’s also extremely rewarding, too.”
Her eyelashes flutter up to mine. “I heard your dad is the lieutenant of homicide.”
“Yes, he is, but he’s retired now.”
“That must have exposed you to death…or the dead often while you were growing up,” she presumes, trying to make casual conversation although it’s not needed. “I’m sure that must’ve been difficult.”
Also common with families I work with is their desire to get to know me. I like to speculate it’s because I’m providing support to them during a vulnerable time. Similar to when a patient bonds with their doctor.
“That is correct. But it’s also given me the ability to do this job.”
She gives me a weak smile, and before she can continue speaking, Kristine appears in the doorway. “Oh, Shelly, this is Kristine, my assistant.”
Kristine shuffles into the room, additional paperwork under her arm. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Branson. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” Shelly replies.
Kristine takes the spot on the opposite side of the table.
Shelly pauses for a beat, then speaks. “I’m so glad we found you. I can tell Nevermore is going to be a good fit for us.”
“That’s great to hear,” Kristine replies. “We will take good care of your family.”
I lean across the table and give Shelly’s hand a squeeze. “I’m going to let Kristine finish up with anything that wasn’t decided on previously.” Then I stand. “We’ll be in touch soon.”
“Thank you, Stevie.” Shelly’s lower lip quivers.
I leave the room to give Kristine and Mrs. Branson time to go over the details.
Walking into my office, I head to the black velvet couch under the large bay window and open my laptop to start going through the emails for the day, when I remember my sister and I haven’t finalized plans for dinner tonight.
We’re meeting our father for dinner. We were supposed to celebrate my deceased mother’s birthday next weekend, but my sister Lux and her boyfriend are leaving for the South of France for six weeks in a couple of days.
My dad knows little about River, her new boyfriend, but just enough to know he owns Thompson Innovations and worships the ground my sister walks on.
He insisted we move the dinner to tonight, and if I don’t call Lux now, I’ll get caught up in work and the day will slip by me.
Placing a pillow on my lap, I get cozy and call my sister.
“Hey!” she answers right away.
“Hi, where are we meeting Dad for dinner tonight for Mom’s birthday?”
“Hmm…” she thinks aloud. “Maybe we could just go to Third on 3rd, Dad’s go-to spot?”
It doesn’t matter what I choose—what Lux wants is usually the same as my dad. She’s always been more like him than I have. The two have always been close, especially now that we’re older and because of my sister’s career choice.
After our mom died when Lux and I were young, my dad—being an overworked homicide detective—did his best to raise us, but he often brought work home with him.
Not only emotionally, but the case files he was investigating took up a permanent space on our kitchen table.
My sister turned that exposure into becoming a crime writer, whereas I developed a very complicated relationship with death.
Sure, it’s inevitable—we all die at some point. But I think being a mortician brings me close to it, creating a kind of fake control over it. Like walking to the edge of a cliff, without actually jumping off.
“I’m down for whatever,” I say.
“Sounds good. Let’s do that then,” she replies. “Oh, and when are you going to visit me at Thompson Manor again?”
My ears perked up remembering who else lives at Thompson Manor with my sister, her billionaire boyfriend River, his aunt—and River’s cousin Sebastian.
Sebastian and I did nothing but get under each other’s skin the entire time.
He’s untrusting and didn’t like me in his space, while I quickly grew irritated with his cocky nature and sarcastic comments.
“I was just there a couple of weeks ago.” With my laptop in one hand and the phone in the other, I head over to my desk while my sister chats.
“It feels like it’s been longer,” she coyly asks, as if Sebastian and I didn’t annoy the shit out of each other during the short time I stayed at their manor.
“We haven’t lived together since college. Why do you suddenly miss me?” I play it cautiously.
“I don’t know. Maybe because it was nice having you around all the time before,” she says.
I chuckle. “Aren’t you leaving for a month, though?”
“Yeah, but what about when I come back? Maybe you can join us for another family dinner again?”
I twist a loose strand of hair. “Maybe.”
“I know you’re just trying to avoid Sebastian,” she accuses.
And she’s right. “So?”
“He’ll probably be busy with his next nighttime project, anyway.”