Page 1 of Melancholia

1

“Let it never be said that Eleanor Collins shies away from blood.”

The words are spoken by the woman across from me just as I place eye caps on the corpse, holding the lids open to slip the caps into place. Once that’s done, I make sure the eyes will be staying shut, before flipping the sheet back up over the body and going to the clipboard on the edge of the desk nearby. The woman watches me impassively, an unwanted guest in a place not meant for her.

“I didn’t ask for commentary,” I grumble, not looking at my guest. “I didn’t ask for you to be here at all.” I keep my voice quiet, listening for the telltale click of the lobby door. Cecil will be back any second, and I’d like to get as much of this body done as possible before he gets here.

“You should ask for a redo of your interview embalming,” the woman remarks. “Last I checked, it’s not exactly proper procedure to do the eyes, then cover the body back up. Doesn’t Cecil prefer you do it all in one swoop if you can?” This time I don’t answer, though when I look up, the woman is touching the large, spread-out birthmark she has under one eye, as if rubbing it will remove it like a paint stain.

“Why are you doing that?” I ask as she stares down at the body, her other hand crossed protectively over her stomach. When she looks up at me, her dark brown eyes are plaintive and unhappy. I’ve never seen someone with eyes like mud, but that’s all I can think of when she looks at me.

God, I wish she’d go away. I don’t have the energy for guests tonight.

“Why not?” the woman, Mary, retorts. With a click of her tongue, she moves to scrub harder at it. “I think I always hated this.”

“Why?” I glance up at her, head tilted slightly as I stroke my thumb over the metal clasp holding the report to the clipboard. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

But Mary just fixes me with a plaintive look and murmurs, “I don’t know, Eleanor, you tell me.”

“You know it’s Nell—” The front door suddenly opens, then closes, though I only hear it because I’ve been expecting it. Thunder rumbles outside like an omen, but it can’t be for anything bad.

Not when Cecil is the definition of sunshine and smiles, there isn’t a grumpy bone in the older man’s body. Despite the fact he owns a mortuary and funeral home that’s been passed down in his family for enough generations that getting out of the business wasn’t really a choice for him.

I wonder if he’s ever minded that.

“It seems to suit him,” Mary remarks, leaning her hands on the embalming table, carefully avoiding the body there. “I think he likes doing the community this kind of service.”

I roll my eyes at her, but I don’t reply. Not when Cecil is already coming down the windowed hallway from the lobby, his glasses perched on the end of his nose like they’re hanging on for dear life while he flips through the mail.

“Seems like we’re in for some storms over the next week or so,” he comments, looking up to smile at me with the mild, friendly expression he wears so naturally.

“Maybe being around death makes him appreciate life more?” Mary asks, still from her spot by the table. “I can’t figure out why else he’d be such a damn teddy bear.” When I glance over at her, she’s rubbing her face again, fingers rasping over the birthmark. But I just shrug at her, not knowing the answer any more than she does.

Cecil doesn’t give Mary even a glance, but of course he doesn’t. He just grins his usual sunshine grin at me and sets the mail on the desk. “How’s the night going?”

“Everything is all good,” I promise him, gesturing at the body covered by a sheet. “Pulled her out of the cooler about fifteen minutes ago, I was just waiting for you to really get started.” I pause, then add almost sheepishly, “I did her eye caps, though. I figured you’d be okay with me doing that without you.”

Please don’t be mad, I think to myself.

Mary snorts. “He’s never mad. I don’t think he has it in him.” As she speaks, I find myself mirroring her movements; rubbing my fingers against my cheek where I know there’s a constellation of freckles, and tucking my black hair back behind my ear as Cecil finishes leafing through the mail.

“Hmm?” He looks up absently, obviously unaware I’m waiting for a response. “Oh! That’s completely fine, Nell. Honestly, you know I trust you by now. You’re better at keeping up with things than I’ve ever been,” the owner of Kindred Pines chuckles. “I’m not here to babysit you.” He barely glances at the body on the table. “I just wanted to come by to do a last check and make sure I didn’t forget anything. Like…” He opens a drawer on the large, multi-tiered desk and lifts up an old, half-mangled phone charger that might be from the Stone Age. “Aha!”

“Does that thing even work anymore?” I can’t help but ask. In the four months I’ve been working here, the charger somehow looks worse and worse every time he finds it in some drawer or shelf. “It looks, uh, past its expiration date.”

Cecil gives me a slightly withering look and I smile at him. “Sorry.”

But he only huffs a sigh, waving me off. “No, no it’s fine. You’re not the only one to make a comment about it. I was charging my phone last night and Adele said almost the same thing. Except less nice.”

“Oh, here he goes,” Mary snorts. “You know you’re in for it once he’s said her name.”

I just give her a look and Mary shrugs, then diverts her attention to the covered body, one hand raised like she might touch it.

“The sheriff was here yesterday?” I can’t help but ask, though I'm not being very subtle with my prying. It’s clear everyone in town knows he’s in love with her, and that she more than eagerly returns his feelings, yet Cecil is somehow still oblivious.

“Mhmm.” He picks up the clipboard and walks around the room, straightening a few things and checking levels of chemicals like he just can’t help it. “Oh, you know, she just wanted to talk to me about my trip tomorrow. Told me not to get distracted on the way. Don’t pat any stray dogs.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “You know Adele—always hovering over me like I’m a child.”

Or like she’s your girlfriend, I don’t say. He’ll probably figure it out. At least, I hope he will. I don’t want him missing out on what would clearly be the sweetest relationship the town of Still Pines has ever seen.