“They’re interesting.” Nadine was sure that was part of the reason, even if she wasn’t certain it was the full one. “But that’s too morbid to be a hobby.”
“Like cleaning moss off gravestones,” said Lisanne, waving to the server for a fresh round.
“Or doing the rubbings of the engraved text.”
“People do that?”
“Genealogists do it to get information from tombstones.”
“That makes sense.” Lisanne made a face. “My parents bought their grave plots last week. They were excited to tell me about it.”
“Planning ahead is smart,” soothed Nadine. “I know you’d rather not think about it.”
“They got a place overlooking a little creek and said it’s shady if I go to visit in the summer.”
What was appropriate to say? “It’s nice they’re looking out for your comfort.” Something occurred to her. “Did they get a family plot?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, with enough space for you as well.” Nadine dabbed her face with a napkin.
Lisanne’s outraged gasp was answer enough. “No! I didn’t think of that, but it’s only for the two of them. Unbelievable.”
“To be fair, don’t you hate your hometown?”
“That’s not the point,” Lisanne whined. “Where am I going to go? Some pauper’s plot? Do they still have those?”
“Why would I know this?” asked Nadine, pulling out her phone for a quick fact-check.
A man leaned over from the table next to them. “Unclaimed bodies are usually buried by the local government in the municipality the person dies in,” he said. When they looked at him in surprise, he went bright red. “Sorry. I overheard your conversation.”
“Oh, interesting,” said Lisanne, putting down her drink. “Is that…? Do you work with bodies? Unclaimed ones?”
The man pulled on a ball cap and laughed as he picked his credit card off the table. “You could say that.” He left with a little wave, and they stared after him.
“I’m intrigued,” said Nadine.
“He was cute and kind of charming, so odds are good he’s a serial killer.” Lisanne took an olive. “It’s hard out there.”
Nadine offered her glass in a commiserative cheers, which Lisanne tapped with her own.
“Also, I saw the West Coast correspondent position went up,” said Lisanne.
“Everyone knows it was tailored for Marcus,” said Nadine as she bent to the cheese plate. “There’s no point in applying.”
“Nadine.”
“It’s not what I want to do, okay?” The words came out before Nadine could think them through. A quick, hard panic suddenly rose up in her chest at the thought of what might happen once her name was over a story again. Was she never going to be able to publish a byline without freaking out? No, it wasn’t her. It was the job. She just didn’t want to go to the West Coast. If a spot came up on the politics team, she would feel different. Shewantedthat.
“You hate the night shift and hated doing obits.”
“I didn’t hate obits,” said Nadine. Not anymore, and it hadn’t been hate. She didn’t appreciate them; that was it.
“Think about it.” Lisanne made a face at the chutney. “Nasty. This is garlic, not orange peel. The job would be good for you. Get you out of your comfort zone.”
“I will when I’m ready.” Nadine’s voice was sharper than she intended.
The server interrupted the subsequent silence with a new round of drinks. That was enough to relieve the tension.
