Page 34 of Seven Graves

The Mortician

It’s almost weird, having people to actually hang out with that listen to what comes out of your mouth and laugh, instead of run.

To make the darkness a little more fun to be in.

To spend time with someone who isn’t constantly checking their watch.

Add that to the soft side of Malek that made an appearance last night, and one could almost say I was daring a toe over the line of my comfort zone.

I’ve had a lot of time to think about all of that this morning, while I’m prepping suites and moving caskets.

There aren’t any deliveries today. Not for my line of work, anyway.

Greg’s also been on better behavior after last night, which I’m positive I have Maggie to thank for however far her foot went up his ass.

Everybody was asleep when I left this morning, and I’m guessing Bridget isn’t easy to bunk with.

Malek was pretty peaceful looking in the coffin.

Which is more than I can say for Mrs. Porter right now.

This casket is all kinds of wrong for her.

Don’t judge. It really is like that with us.

For the Grey’s, a funeral is just as important as the way you carry yourself, so if the casket isn’t the right choice, it’s like wearing dirty sneakers with a tuxedo.

I finally dressed her this morning and touched up her hair and makeup.

She looks really beautiful, but this monstrosity of a rental is sucking the ambiance out of this whole ordeal.

Her family wasn’t happy, as I expected, but I’m almost afraid of what’s gonna happen when they walk through that door.

And we only have a few hours before they get here.

I stood in the kitchen, mindlessly chewing a bite of a half-ass sandwich and looking out the window at the roses when Dad came in.

“Ah…so you’re the one who used up the last of the turkey.”

I smiled and turned around, leaning against the sink. “It was Greg.” Said turkey was half hanging out of my folded slice of bread and Dad nodded.

“He never learns, does he?”

“Never.”

He started bagging up some trash and sighed. “You’re stressing about dinner last night?” I wasn’t, but now that he’s bringing it up…ugh.

“Actually no. I’m stressing about the Porter viewing this afternoon. That casket isn’t gonna work, Dad.” He tied the drawstrings and set the bag against the wall.

“Ah. About that. I agree with you, honestly. The handles are done, but they don’t have anybody available for delivery until tomorrow. So, it looks like either way, she’ll have to stay in the oak one, or that copper finish casket we’ve got in storage.”

“Ew, Dad…hell no.”

He tightened his mouth. “I know.” I shoved the rest of my sandwich into my mouth and growled, turning myself back around to angrily stare at Desiree’s cafe. “Don’t stress. Not the worst thing that’s happened around here, I guess.” He walked out and my phone started buzzing in my back pocket.

“Not now. Havin’ a moment.”

“So am I. I made the mistake of takin’ Bridget to a grocery.”

I smiled and knelt down, grabbing another trash bag to replace the one Dad took out. “She needed to get out, though. What’s the dilemma?”

“The dilemma? She’s got a cart full a shite and still piling it in. But…she wanted to ask you, red or deep orange?”

“Am I allowed the context of this inquiry?”

He mumbled, apparently asking Bridget, and then oofed like she’d hit him. “Afraid not.”

“Okay. Deep orange, then. Sounds very Halloween.” I stuffed the trash bag in, and started fitting it around the bin.

“What’s got you worked up? They still on about my uh…presence?” I could hear his smile and wished like hell I could smack it.

“No. Remember our friend downstairs, yesterday?”

“Mrs. Porter?”

“That’s the one. Her viewing is at six, and we had to send her casket back because it was all wrong. They fixed it, but it still won’t be here until tomorrow, and what we’ve got her in is like the equivalent to a generously used car.”

“Poor old bat. What are you gonna do?”

“Nothin’ I can do. I have a ton to finish up here before we start letting people in the door, and they apparently don’t have an available delivery guy.

” I heard Greg calling for me from down the hall and I righted the lid to the trash can.

“Anyways, I gotta run. I’ll text you when I’m on the road, kay? ”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond and washed my hands real quick before rushing down the hall.

“I think the spray definitely helps.”

I’ve meticulously arranged all the flowers for the Porter service and stretched this casket spray as far as I could make it go, dressing the negative space with this and that, to the point that it’s almost gaudy.

Mom is doing the thing she always does, and being way too nice when I know, deep down, she thinks the shit is about as horrid as I do.

What’s probably more pressing than the actual fit this family is gonna throw, is the fact that I spread my legs right next to her body and I’m having a hard time not feeling incredibly disrespectful about it.

Maybe that’s why I feel like this extra mile just isn’t far enough.

It’s also why I’d much rather be poking stiffs with sharp things rather than be responsible for this. I’m so much better suited downstairs.

Dad came rushing into the suite, rubbing his hands together and nearly breaking a sweat as he hurried down the little aisle towards us. “Move all that. You’re never gonna believe this.”

“Huh?”

“Her casket’s here. Greg’s helping him bring it in now.”

Oh, thank you, Jesus.

We turned to go unlatch the viewing room doors to make space for the incoming casket, but when we got halfway down the aisle, I nearly tripped over myself, choking on my own oxygen.

Greg was completely oblivious, inching backwards with one side of the casket on a bier, while Malek pushed from the other side.

He was wearing that pinstripe button-up again.

It’s almost like he planned this. Mom narrowed her eyes, giving him a onceover, and I couldn’t tell yet if she recognized him or not.

“We can’t tell you how grateful we are to you for this…

sorry, I didn’t get your name,” Dad reached out a hand, and Malek shook it firmly.

The fact that I just watched my dad shake hands with a murderer should be second to the fact that those fingers were up inside his daughter in this house yesterday. I think I’m gonna throw up.

“Malek Byrne, sir. It’s no problem. Happy to help.”

Jesus, Seven…it’s fine. It’s just manners. They’re fake. THEY’RE FAKE. Calm down.

His green eyes flashed towards me and that smile set me on fire. I dunno how he pulled this off, but I’m so at war between ripping his clothes off for it…or ripping his throat out for it. I just stood there in stunned silence.

“Wait, are you…” Oh, fuck… “Aren’t you the guy I saw leaving yesterday morning?”

And now she knows.

Greg abruptly stopped, the bier slamming into his foot as he jerked a sassy head in my direction. “You’re joking.”

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry, I didn’t want to impose.

” LIE. Oh, my God! “I was just helping with something and thought it best not to wake the house.” My hands covered my face before I could stop them.

Didn’t stop all the stares from burning my skin off, though.

I feel like I just got kicked into the crematory while it was wide open.

“Oh, not at all! Please tell me you’re taking us up on that invitation for dinner!”

Noooooo!

I split my fingers up enough to look through them, and Malek’s face was unreadable.

Inquisitive, yes…but I could almost detect a hint of busted pride.

I never told him about it. I didn’t wanna have to explain my real reason why he couldn’t be here around my family.

I didn’t expect this, and I wasn’t even planning to stay for dinner tonight.

“Uh, Mom? We’ve—” I met eyes with him, trying not to look so shameful. “We’ve got dinner plans. Sorry.”

“You’re not staying for the service?” Dad asked.

“Not this time. Reservations.” I whirled on Greg. “You got this covered?” He stuck his hands on his hips, smirking like an ass, and nodded. “Great, we’ll see you later.”

I grabbed Malek’s elbow and barreled out the doors and towards the back part of the house, out of earshot. Once I figured we were safe, we stood by the back door, looking at each other.

“What’s for dinner?” he asked, very pleased with himself.

“Was that whole charade about hijacking my life supposed to be taken as a warning? How did you even know about this?”

He crossed his arms and shot me a look. “That wasn’t a charade, number one. Number two, you told me about it on the phone. You needed a delivery guy? I made myself one. A thank you would be nice at the very least, but I also accept chocolate and sexual favors…or both .”

“ Thank you . That doesn’t answer the obvious. How’d you know which casket? Where to go get it? How’d you even get it here? You strap it to the hood like a deer?”

“Beidh mé mallaithe, a bhean…”

“ English, please.”

He snorted and shook his head, staring down at the floor.

“ I’m sorry , I didn’t expect you to be upset about it.

I’m not really good at this whole wooing thing, okay?

You needed my help. I’m not busy. I hacked into your computer and got the information, and they let me borrow their van.

I’ve gotta be back to get the Nova by seven. ”

Now, I just feel like an asshole.

“I’m not upset, I just—I…”

“Since we’re on the subject of charades, you wanna tell me ‘bout the real reason you didn’t mention dinner last night? Your Ma doesn’t seem that upset that she saw me out front.”

“I might not have told you about dinner, but I did tell you why. They’re waiting on this kind of shit, Malek. I don’t wanna play house at my family’s dinner table with a—” I paused, catching myself, and he looked up.

“With a killer? ”

“Malek, I—”