The main hub of the funeral home was a large room, crowded with desks and office equipment. Although Gerald and Mr. Crosby had their own private offices up front, this back area was where the rest of the staff worked. Tom, Aaron, and Junior all had desks here, as did their dispatcher, Earl Wayne.
It was Earl’s job to organize their part-time employees to work funerals, arrange police escorts, and coordinate removal staff to pick up people once they’d passed. He was on the phone constantly, yelled a lot, and smoked even more. He’d been here long before the Ayers had sold to the Crosby family, and it was said he came with the building.
As Tom and Aaron walked in, Earl was passionately arguing with someone on the phone.
“Now, Steve,” he was saying, “I’m very sorry that you were worried, but you can’t pick up your fuckin’chickenand put her in the hearse.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, right. Of course, it was a boy chicken, I’m so very sorry—” His voice rose to a shout. “But you can’t have chickens of either fuckin’ sex in the God blessed fuckin’ coach!”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Tom commented, grimacing at the brilliant shade of red Earl’s face was turning.
“You didn’t hear?” Aaron cringed. “The service this morning? The one we thought you were gonna have to cover? After the graveside, Steve took the coach somewhere to pick up his pet chicken.”
“No!”
“Yes.” Aaron cackled. “Put the damn thing right up front with him, and someone saw him. Some lady from Gerald’s bridge club. Called him right up because the funeral home marquis was still in the window, so they knew it was one of ours.”
“Wow.” Tom shook his head, moving toward the corner where his and Aaron’s desks were set up next to one another. “Is that why Gerald was so awesome about the flowers earlier?”
“Yeah.” Aaron paused to grab a cup of coffee. “He’s up front trying to get Mr. Crosby to fire Steve as we speak and probably blacklist Doyle’s Flowers.”
“What?” Tom had just sat down, but he bolted up to his feet again. “He can’t do that. Why? Why would he do that? Because Cypress had the balls to stand up to him?”
“Cypress, huh?” Aaron grinned slyly. “So, it’s not ‘HFG’ anymore?”
“Uh.” Tom tried not to look as bashful as he felt, and he regretted ever sharing his crush’s secret nickname. “I mean, yeah. Cypress Holmes. That’s his name. He has a name. Of course, he has a name.”
“Mmhm.” Aaron slurped his coffee with a knowing smirk, taking his seat. “Well, I don’t think you or Cypress have anything to worry about. Mr. Crosby has been ordering flowers from Doyle’s since the seventies. The old man doesn’t like change.”
“Good. I mean, yeah, totally. And everybody loves the arrangements.” Tom felt a bit weird defending Cypress, but he didn’t want to see anyone suffer because Gerald was a jerk. “Did you know he’s the florist? Not just the delivery guy?”
“So, are we changing his name to Hot Florist Guy or are we on an official first name basis now?”
“First name.”
“Good for you, Tom.” Aaron saluted with his mug. “Get your man! Next step, phone number. Now,” He leaned forward in his chair, “tell me about the damn newspaper in the faces.”
“Oh, right,” Tom said, trying to pick up where he left off. “So, you’ve embalmed the body, cauterized the wounds, and filled up what you could. Old school embalmers would use newspaper, sawdust, all sorts of things, but I typically use wound filler compound or rolled up cotton if it’s really big.”
“Got it.” Aaron leaned forward in his chair. “Next is the wax, right?”
“Yes. There’s different kinds with different textures and consistencies.” Tom cringed when Earl’s screaming hit a particularly high pitch. “There’s really soft ones, like lip wax? We use those if someone’s mouth opens a little or if their lip line is messed up from being intubated.”
“Intubated?”
“Yeah, the tube can leave a mark on the person’s lip if it just sits there.”
“Chicken!Hearse!Bad!”Earl continued to seethe.
“Anyway. Then there’s harder waxes you can use to sculpt features with,” Tom went on, raising his voice so Aaron could hear him. “Most of these waxes get pliable when you work with them, and then they’ll harden back up again when they cool down. I actually use those compressed air cans to spray the wax if it gets too soft—”
“Do you have any idea how much it costs to get a hearse detailed because there’s chicken shit all over the seat?”
“But basically, you start layering the harder waxes on, using pictures for reference if you can, and carve out the missing features.” Tom scrubbed his hand over his face.
It was next to impossible to have any conversation once Earl got going, and Aaron loudly suggested, “Maybe we should take lunch?”
“Good idea.”
Just as they rose to escape Earl’s screeching, Miss Wheel frantically burst in. She was one of the receptionists who worked the front desk and helped handle the phones. She looked very distraught, her wrinkled bulldog face drawn back in a miserable leer.
