Page 72 of Melancholia

“It’s a bone, Ms. Elliot. It’s just as natural as⁠—”

She pulls away from me when Cecil exits his office, hobbling towards him. He doesn’t look surprised at her condition, which makes me think that this isn’t new. Instead, he embraces her ever so gently, like she’s made of glass and could break just as easily.

“Clara, I am so sorry to meet again under these circumstances,” he murmurs. “Come, let’s go to Andrew. If you’ll give me just a moment?” She bobs her head in a nod and turns toward the smaller of the two viewing rooms, with a picture of her son on the easel by the door. She stops to look at it, and reaches up to kiss her fingers, then place them on his face. Whatever she says to the portrait, I don’t hear, and she steps inside a moment later.

“Cecil,” I whisper, creeping closer. “Sorry, I know this is a weird question, but…is she okay?” That’s the only way I can think to ask without sounding suspicious. “Has she always been…?”

“Clara hasn’t been all right in a long time, I’m afraid,” he sighs. “I don’t know. I won’t speak ill of the dead, but…” But clearly he wants to. “It was hard for her, having Andrew be who he was. Still is, even though he’s gone. I’m sorry for her attitude. I promise, nothing about it is because of you.” He gives me a soft, sympathetic smile. “Why don’t I take over with her? I didn’t even consider that she would be less than kind to you, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Can you get the last of the flowers in and the paperwork finished? And let me know when the guests start showing up. Though, if I’m honest, I don’t think there will be a big turnout.”

“Absolutely.” Anything other than being around Ms. Elliot feels preferable right now. I move to do as he says, going into his office and getting the big casket spray that someone spent a pretty penny on. I haven’t seen one like it in a few months, and not when it was someone in the smaller room.

When I walk inside, trying to be as quiet as possible, Ms. Elliot isn’t crying. She stands there, her hands on the casket, as I haul the arrangement up. A glance at Cecil has me setting it on the floor, rather than asking her to move her hands, then I leave to do the same with the last few smaller arrangements sent in by someone in town, and Cecil himself. Not for the first time, it strikes me how kind my boss is.

Those two arrangements I put on the shelves behind the podium and straighten others along the walls. A few cards have fallen over on the stands that hold them, so I fix those as well before doing a once-over of the room. It’s as nice as I can get it, and as I walk, I glance up at her, trying to fathom what she might be thinking.

Unfortunately, my steps take me close to her, and Ms. Elliot looks up at me with her eyes red and swollen. “Losing a child is the worst kind of grief,” she tells me, her voice trembling. “I hope your parents never have to suffer it.”

The words bring me to a halt. Cecil steps forward, noticing my distress, but today, I can’t keep myself quiet. Normally, this is something I would shrug off, though I’ve certainly never been faced with a statement so blatantly in my face without meaning to be.

“My parents already did. A long time ago,” I murmur. “And yeah, trust me. I know it’s the worst kind of grief imaginable. Because they never recovered from losing my sister.”

Both of them look at me, and Ms. Elliot finally looks almost embarrassed at herself. I just give her another polite smile and head for the door, not bothering to do anything else as my chest tightens around my dredged-up grief.

I can’t do this today.

My steps take me back to Cecil’s office, and I pull out the last bit of paperwork for the funeral. As expected, it isn’t finished. He never finishes things before the absolute last minute, not that I’m much better. But at least it’s all the same to me by now. I scratch out a few details in my boring handwriting, sitting at his desk like I might break anything I touch. I know that isn’t the case, but still. It makes me feel awkward and a bit like a bull in the proverbial china shop to be working in my boss’s office.

My phone rings just as I’m finishing up, and when I glance down, I see the number is one I recognize, but only because it’s been calling me for over a week now.

“Hello?” I ask, getting to my feet.

“Is this Eleanor Collins?” The voice on the other end of the phone is male and polite-sounding.

“I am. Is this, umm…Mr. Waters?” I ask, trying to remember the names of the attorney’s office.

“It is. Sorry about the delay. I’ve been out of town and we’ve been playing a bit of phone tag, haven’t we?” The attorney chuckles in what feels like a very polite, plastic way. I don’t return it. Something feels off about his voice and his tone. It feels…careful. Like he’s about to give me some bad news I’m not expecting.

But I’m pretty sure my life is full-up with bad news. I’m not sure what he can do to make things worse.

“I am very sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but I’m reaching out about the death of your father, Henry Collins.”

I’m sure I’ve heard him wrong.

I glance down at the phone as if I’m going to suddenly see evidence this is a joke, or some kind of prank, before putting it to my ear again. “Excuse me?” is all I can get out, even as the front door to the funeral home opens, admitting a couple speaking in hushed voices. Cecil pokes his head into the office and I hold up a finger to show him I’m on the phone, then I point toward the front door. He nods and ushers in the couple, though I catch a quick look from him directed at me, like he’s concerned after what I said in the viewing room.

They glance at me and I offer them a distracted smile before heading out the front door, wanting to be out of the building for…whatever this is. “My dad left us a long time ago. He doesn’t even know⁠—”

“He set up his will with me last year, when he knew that his health was failing. I know this might seem out of the blue for you, Ms. Collins. He told me about your estrangement.”

“Estrangement,” I repeat. I’m still walking. Still just walking, though I don’t know where to. “Okay, sure, let’s go with that.” I stumble when my feet find grass instead of asphalt, but I keep walking. Past the barrier of lawn and toward the trees that mark the edge of town, where Still Pines bleeds into the forest that brackets the town on all sides. “What do you mean he’s dead?”

There’s a feeling in my stomach that I don’t understand. Nausea, maybe? Or something else. Something worse that gnaws at me in warning.

“He was diagnosed with cancer last year. I have all the documents here, Ms. Collins. I’m happy to meet up with you wherever you’re able.”

“Documents?” My ears ring. My brain feels foggy, like things aren’t making sense. Under my feet, leaves crunch and move as I walk through them. “I’m sorry, I really don’t understand⁠—”

“Your father is dead, Eleanor,” the lawyer interrupts patiently. Like he’s done this before. “He’s gone. I’m so sorry, but I need you to come go over his will with me. You’re his only surviving family, and he’s left you what he had.”