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Rivulets ran under my hair and behind my ears as I got to my feet. I resisted the urge to wipe the itchy sensation away when more trails would inevitably follow.
Standing frozen in the funeral home parking lot, I felt every frigid raindrop of this freakishly cold summer storm soak through my light sweater and drip into my bra. My skin pebbled. The tingling awoke something inside me.
I took a step toward the front door.
Was I really just about to hang my fate on a whim and a tarot card spread?
Yes.
I’d made my decision. Now, I had to let him make his without being afraid of the outcome.
It was only a question.
Nothing rode on his answer. Either way, we’d remain friends, just as tight as before. Even tighter, maybe.
There was nothing to be embarrassed about. No good reason for my overabundance of caution. Definitely no reason to feel this brick nestled in my intestines, dragging me down, rendering me practically immobile with a fear that had come upon me almost as suddenly as this storm.
I counted the drips plunking onto my belly from my soaked cotton sweater. I wanted to rip it off and wring it out. Maybe he’d say yes if I knocked on the door in only my black jeans and my sheer black bralette with the snake embroidery twisting up my torso. I’dlove to see the look on his face, if only to know, once and for all, if he felt anything more than just… platonic friendship for me.
If he said yes, would he ever see me as a real partner? As a lover?
I doubted it, but that wasn’t the goal. This was purely practical. Sort of.
Focus, Decca. Remember the cards. Remember Granny. Lay down your life for your friends.
The rain came down even heavier. I’d always loved these deep, soaking rains. They restored the land, fed the streams, gave life to the flora of Granny’s garden on our side of the mountain where my family had come from.
On the flip side, I knew the devastation they could cause. The mudslides, the floods, the drownings of humans and animals alike.
Everything beautiful had an ugly side. Every tarot card had its reversal. And I didn’t know if this storm foretold of renewal or disaster.
I stepped out of the downpour and under the protection of the wide front porch. The floorboards needed a refresh. Warped from the soaking rain, they squished under my feet.
In all the years I’d been coming to visit Soula in her ancestral home, then Bethany, once she took ownership of half the property,I couldn’t remember a single time when I’d walked through the front door. I’d never noticed the brass plaque next to the door, dating the house from 1878.
I grimaced.
Smythe & Co. Mortuary was a giant Victorian bastion. A relic of that golden age when death had first been outsourced. When funerals moved out of the intimate bosom of the home and into what were often generic and impersonal institutions. Not that Smythe was generic or impersonal. But as often as I’d visited this house, it never stopped from tweaking my heartstrings a bit as I grieved the loss of old customs and ancient wisdom now that care of the deceased was provided by strangers rather than loved ones.
Instead of death embraced as the final rite of passage, it became something to fear, a thing of disgust and abhorrence.
This house stood for a lot of things I disliked about the deathcare industry, but it was also the home to some of the people I loved most in the world. My friends and my found family.
The sign didn’t detract from my mission, but it did give me pause. What was I doing here? Was I really about to do this? What if he said no? What if he said yes?
I raised my fist and pounded on the heavy door, hoping Gus would be the one to answer it.
Another stream of water slipped down my scalp. My long hair was thoroughly plastered to my face. My sweater and jeans needed to be wrung out, and my toes swam in a pool inside the too-big rubber boots I’d borrowed from Bethany.
It wasn’t a great look. But my looks didn’t matter much for this task. Beauty had nothing to do with this. He’d never allow me to do this for him. He’d be out of his mind to take me up on my offer.
I raised my fist again, but before I could knock, the door flew open.
Gus
Hear me when Icall, O God of my righteousness! You have relieved me when I was in distress; have mercy on me, and hear my prayer…
The words caught in my throat like a fresh heap of incense in the censor. Instead of my prayers drifting up to God’s ears, they hovered in clouds around me, choking me.
