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No one knocked here. At least not on a funeral home door. Who came to a mortuary selling girl scout cookies or solar panels?
I sat up, groggily, from where I was curled on the bed and threw a button-down over my t-shirt. I couldn’t look like a slob in case it was a client. Or potential client.
It didn’t matter that it was the middle of the night in a thunderstorm. It was a habit cultivated after a lifetime of living in a funeral home, the child of two funeral directors. Presentable at all times.
The door pounded again when I reached the second floor.
“Just a minute,” I shouted. I doubted they could hear me on the other side. Not with the storm raging.
I moved the curtain to the side and saw someone small. A woman? Child? Evil spirit from a Japanese horror film? Long black hair, parted down the center like curtains and slicked to her face.
I unlocked the deadbolt and threw open the heavy door.
“Decca?” I stepped out onto the cold, rain-soaked porch, wrapping a hand around her elbow automatically. “What’s wrong? My God, come in.”
She stepped inside, holding her arms across her chest, though it only squished the water out of her drenched clothes.
“Can I…?” She gestured to her shoes.
“Yeah, uh… Let’s get you a towel.”
I backed away enough to look into her eyes, unsure of why she was here, but unwilling to prod too much. Probably some harebrained scheme of my sister, Soula and their best friend, Bethany’s. Or more likely, Decca’s own harebrained scheme, because that was the kind of woman she was. Knowing Ma and Dad were out of town on a second honeymoon—or cancermoon—as Dad morbidly referred to it, sneaking into a funeral home on a stormy night to perform a seance would totally be a Decca thing to do. Except Soula was at a conference until tomorrow, and Bethany was probably…tied up somewhere, waiting for George to get home from work.
That left my Decca here alone.
MyDecca. I didn’t have the right to think it. And think it so naturally, as if she was attached in any way to me.
So…notmy Decca. Not for much longer, anyway.
“You’re shivering. Let’s go upstairs. You can change into something dry.” My hand moved to her lower back, guiding her up the grand staircase. I dropped it, afraid to touch her, even through the thick, sopping wet sweater. Instead, I took the shoes she carried, my fingers accidentally brushing hers in the process. Her hand felt like ice.
I looked down at those thin fingers, huddling in the oversized sleeves. Whatever concern I had about her health, her emotional state, her everything, it was my priority to take care of her body.
She needed to get warm.
Hesitating only a moment on the landing of the second floor, I bypassed the apprentice rooms, leading her through the narrow hallway and up yet another staircase.
There, at the top, I paused. I pressed my forehead against the door. What was I thinking, bringing her up here? I could have runand grabbed a towel and some sweats and hurled them down to her while she changed in the bathroom, before finding out what she came here for.
I sighed, turning the ornate knob and swinging the door wide.
This was fine. Perfectly fine. I trusted myself.
Decca followed me into my attic bedroom. It was small. Spartan. Except for the books, it was devoid of personality or comfort. A room, not for coziness, but temporary necessity. Once I became ordained, I didn’t know where I’d be sent to live. It would probably be somewhere in the same archdiocese, but that only meant the Southeast US. I couldn’t let myself get too comfortable anywhere now, just to box up all my books again in a couple months to move them to fucking Florida or wherever.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. Please don’t move me to Florida.
Decca huddled inside her sweater.
Right,warmth.
“Sorry. Be right back.” I ran back downstairs and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. By the time I got back, she was stripping off her oversized black pullover. Her back to me, she plopped the sopping wet cotton on the floor.
Seeing more of her body bared—only the thin straps of her tiny black camisole in the way—I was fixated on the play of her wiry muscles. Mesmerized by her shoulders. Entranced by the way they worked under her skin as she gathered her hair into a knot on her head and secured it with a tie from her wrist. Her movements were capable and elegant.
“Ugh. That’s better.” She turned to face me. “I’ll have to wring that out in the bathroom.”
All I could see were the points of her small nipples poking through the thin cotton. She saw where my eyes were focused.The edge of a smile played on her lips as she took a confident step toward me.
