“Hey, Miss Edie.” Tom immediately went over for a hug. “How are you doing?”
“Oh, I’m great!” Edie exclaimed. “Had to work on the living this morning, took forever. They always wanna talk, baby. I can’t get nothin’ done.”
“Was getting worried about you,” Tom teased. “Thought you might have forgotten about us.”
“That’s what that damn Earl said.” Edie wagged her curling iron at him. “I would never forget about my babies here at the funeral home. I’d rather be here than anywhere else, baby.”
“Oh, I know.” Tom peeked around her to check out Mrs. Winslow’s hair, seeing Edie had already groomed it into a smooth coif in the time it had taken him to deliver Mr. Powell up front. “Damn, she looks awesome.”
“You did her, huh?”
“Sure did.”
“Me and you, we make some beautiful dead folks, baby,” Edie declared, adjusting one small curl by Mrs. Winslow’s ear. “Is it true her little dog ate her up? ‘Cause I can’t see nothin’.”
“Yeah.” Tom grimaced, pointing along Mrs. Winslow’s cheek. “From here over is all wax.”
“Ain’t you somethin’! I swear it’s like magic, baby. I still remember when I saw you give that one lady a nose who didn’t have a nose.” Edie beamed up at him as she picked up a can of hairspray. “You’re so good.”
“Thanks,” Tom said, ducking his head bashfully. “I try really hard.”
“And it shows!” Edie began to spray. “It’s ‘cause you care, baby.” Still spraying. “You put love into it.” And still spraying. “It makes all the difference in the world, and people can tell.”
Tom stepped back to avoid the cloud of hairspray, coughing lightly. “Seriously, thank you. I appreciate it.”
“There,” Edie said, finally ceasing the spritz. “That hair ain’t gonna move until Jesus comes back.”
“She looks amazing.”
“Thank you, baby. Got any more business for me?”
“Not yet,” Tom replied. “No other dead friends right now except Mr. Dresser over there.”
“I peeked at him, so sad.” Edie began to gather up her combs and hairspray, tucking them back into a big purse. “What happened to him, baby?”
“Cancer, I think. Family’s pretty torn up.” Tom heard Mrs. Dresser again and shuddered, trying to find comfort in the faint sting he could still feel on his backside.
“You okay, baby?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.”
“God don’t like a liar,” Edie warned. “You look like somethin’s on your mind, baby.”
“Well…” Tom hesitated. He was never very good at opening up, and the very nature of his job made it even more difficult to express himself without it feeling like a betrayal.
It was the funeral business. They were all supposed to be stoic professionals in perfect suits who could be a pillar of strength and knowledge to help guide grieving families. They could be sympathetic, but it would be unseemly if the director was crying as hard as the family.
Even though that’s exactly what Tom wanted to do sometimes.
Veterans like Mr. Crosby or Gerald, who had been doing this for decades, always appeared totally unbothered by the things they saw. Junior was a monster who didn’t care about anything, and though Earl would show some emotion, he was quick to deflect it with humor. Aaron was still new to the business, and whatever he felt, he followed Gerald’s example and said nothing.
Complaining about being sad while working at a funeral home was like being upset about getting wet in the shower. It was part of the job and expected to only be acknowledged as a minor inconvenience, like an accountant who gets a paper cut.
But the pain of seeing so much death and tragedy wasn’t just a little cut to Tom. It was a thousand cuts, over and over. He could feel it building, and he had to say something before it tore him apart. The sadness made it hard to breathe, and sometimes all he wanted to do was lay down and cry or scream or—
“Hey, Edie,” Aaron said as he came over to give her a big hug. “How’s my favorite hairdresser in the whole world?”
Tom jerked, startled by Aaron’s presence. He hadn’t even heard the damn door open.
