Richard smelled an offensive odor coming from Ruth. Uncle James took a bottle of disinfectant off the shelf and wet a sponge. He poured some of it into another sponge, handing it to Richard.
Uncle James pulled the sheet back only to her waist. Her small, shriveled breasts were exposed. Richard shrunk back. His mother’s breasts certainly didn’t look like these.
“It’s all right. She won’t bite.” Uncle James sponged her down. Richard followed his lead, and soon the cleanser's strong fumes replaced Ruth's putrid stench. Touching her body was strange. She was so very cold.
“It is important that this procedure be done with care,” Uncle James began, sounding like a professor. “If one does this step carefully, the next can be done smoothly. If the body isn’t disinfected, then the embalming procedure will not work. It also prevents the spread of germs.”
When Uncle James pulled the sheet completely off, Richard tried hard not to look at the woman’s private parts, but couldn’t help it as he watched his uncle cleanse the area. Richard wondered what it was like to touch that private place without the sponge, and then tried to erase that thought from his mind.
Once they’d finished cleaning Ruth, Uncle James placed embalming fluid and water inside the pump. “It usually takes about four gallons to finish the job.” Uncle James carefully measured his liquids, and then hooked Ruth up to an IV.
Richard watched in awe as his uncle inserted the needle, fascinated by the whole procedure.
“We usually use the femoral or carotid artery for this. That way it goes into the heart and the circulatory system pushes it out, replacing the blood. I like to use the jugular. You okay? You’ve hardly said a word.”
“I’m fine. Listening, that’s all.”
“A good student, that’s what you are, Richard. A good student.”
“Yep.”
“Okay, now, see those tools over there?”
“Uh huh.”
“Hand the first two over.”
Richard handed him the scissors-like instruments. “What are these for?”
“We use these to remove any blood clots and to open the veins where the embalming fluid can’t get through.”
“Oh.” Richard’s tone had become hushed while watching his uncle work.
“Okay, now switch on the pump, please.” Richard did. “We have to be very careful during this part. Improper embalming will make the cosmetology process impossible. God knows when I started I had a few messes. Let me tell you, son, there were some families not too happy at what I’d done to their kin. But patience is as important with the dead as with the living. If you treat this old gal here on the table as kindly as we treated her husband who came to us, then we usually have success on all accounts.”
The sound of the pump along with the ebb and flow of fluids being drained and replaced was as rhythmical as rushing waters. Richard stared at the body while the fluids filled her, distorting her emaciated form into odd shapes, almost like a balloon being blown up. He liked the way it looked. He wanted to open her eyes to see if they were bugging out. God, his uncle was great.
“Never rush the work, because I can’t tell you how it easy it can be to swell the face, and if that happens it’s impossible to fix.” Uncle James applied the steady pressure. “The frequent drainage of the fluids is crucial.”
Richard watched, sweat forming on his brow. He wished he were the one injecting and draining the fluids!
After the process was finished, Uncle James took off his gloves and washed his hands in a corner sink, then pulled on a new set of gloves.
“We’re not done?”
“Oh, no. We still have to do the cavity embalming.”
Richard was pleased. He smiled as he stared at Ruth, whose body was now full of chemicals.
Uncle James went to the shelf again and took down a bag of powder, which he mixed with water. “Some out there swear by kitty litter, but something tells me that most of our departed friends here wouldn’t be too pleased with cat litter inside their thoracic cavity.”
“No.” Richard shook his head vehemently.
“This is necessary when the chest is sunken, and Ruth’s is a bit. So we’ll give her some help.” Uncle James stuck a tube down her mouth and filled it with the material, which he then pumped into her. Richard stared as her chest expanded.
“Next, we re-aspirate the lungs, cork the windpipe, and then the anal vent, which we open if we notice any bloating from the build up of gas.”
“Like a fart?”
“Richard!”
“Sorry.”
“Yes, like a fart.” They both laughed. “Okay Ruth, we’ll let you rest, while we grab a bite. I’d ask you to come, but…" Uncle James wasn’t the least bit condescending or sarcastic; however, Richard couldn’t help giggling.
They washed up and headed to the deli across the street. Janie Keaton was there with some friends. Richard glanced over, but tried not to pay any attention. He thought that Janie Keaton was the prettiest girl in school. She smiled at him while he bit into his ham sandwich.
“I think she likes you,” Uncle James whispered.
“Nah, no one likes me,” Richard replied, while chewing his sandwich and shaking his head.
“I don’t believe that. You’re a good-looking boy, son. Remind me of your mother with your big brown eyes and blonde hair, and those dimples, well, those would woo a gal anytime.”
Richard shook his head and smiled sheepishly. Maybe his uncle was right. He was a really smart man, with a good sense about people. It would make his day, week—no,
year
—if Janie Keaton liked him. If she liked him, then everyone else would too.
As Janie and her friends left the deli, she passed by their booth. “Hi, Richard. How’s your summer going?”
Richard had no idea Janie Keaton even knew his name. He’d never imagined she knew he was alive. God, this was the best day of his life. “Good.”
“Yeah, what you up to?”
“I’m working with my uncle.”
Janie took a step back and looked at Uncle James. “At the funeral home?”
Richard hung his head. “Yes.”
“Ooh creepy, but sort of cool, like in a freaky way, you know.”
Richard looked up. “Yeah, it is.”
“Wow. Okay, well maybe I’ll see you around again. Have a good summer.”
“You too.”
Uncle James patted his hand and said, “Good going. She’s awfully pretty. I told you so. She’s got her eye on you. You handled that one just right.”
“Thanks.” Richard watched Janie Keaton walk away, her long hair, the color of sunshine on wheat in the late afternoon sun, swung from her ponytail, made him feel funny, but a good funny. He hoped that he would see Janie around again and be able to look in those blue-sky eyes.
After lunch, Uncle James taught Richard the art of applying makeup to the deceased. His favorite part was when they sewed Ruth’s lips together then applied a thin layer of wax across them before putting on her lipstick.
Richard’s thoughts kept wandering back to Janie Keaton. When Uncle James had to take a phone call, Richard escaped to the bathroom where his mind floated from Ruth’s exposed genitals to Janie. He touched himself thinking of what it would be like to do all the things to Janie that they’d done to Ruth today. He felt weird but wonderful, as his body grew warm and tingled all over.
As he pleasured himself, he wondered what color he’d paint Janie Keaton’s lips if she were lying on the table.
Frankie dove for the phone, hoping it was someone wanting to hang out. She doubted her luck could be that good. Her best pals were on cheer squad and at practice, and another was grounded for sneaking out with cutie pie Dean Ryan the other night. No, most likely it was probably Dad making sure she was doing her chemistry homework. College was less than two years away, something he repeatedly stressed. His major rule was homework before play, and though she resented it, she figured it had some merit.
“Frances?”
“Leeza?” she whispered. Frankie hadn’t heard her voice in over a year. But it couldn’t be mistaken, with a little-girl pitch and the slight southern lilt Frankie knew she’d tried hard to get rid of.
“That’s right, it’s me. How are you, darling?”
“What do you want?”
“Well, honey, I wanted to say how sorry I am about everything. I’ve thought a lot about it lately, and I feel real bad. You were always a pretty good kid, and I suppose I didn’t treat you so well. I’m really sorry about that.”
“Next, you’ll tell me you’ve gone all Jerry Falwell on me and found Jesus. If I remember right, your interests run more along the lines of Jerry Springer.” Frankie picked at her fingernails. “Looking for forgiveness, are you? If that’s it, Leeza, you’re calling the wrong girl. I actually used to pray at night that you’d go away and I’d find out you weren’t really my mother. Thank God that prayer came true.”
“Oh dear, I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor.”
Frankie stopped picking at her nails, a knot wrenched tight in her gut. “No, Ma’am, I haven’t. That’s how I got through all your abuse.”
“Now, Frances, there’s no need for so much spite. I called to tell you that I am sorry—truly. I hope someday you’ll accept that, and maybe realize that I really do love you.”
“Love isn’t in your vocabulary. I don’t know what you’re up to this time, but I don’t really care. You can’t hurt me anymore.” Frankie slammed down the phone, then snatched it up again and threw it against the wall. She put on her Fuel CD, and as the music blared from her speakers, she collapsed on her bed and began to cry.
Before long a fitful sleep took hold, and she dreamed she was walking along a cliff, her dad beside her. They talked about her not having a mother, how that must feel to Frankie, how sad it was. Up ahead, a figure emerged through the fog. As the being came closer, she saw that it was Helena. Frankie looked up at her dad who smiled. When Frankie didn’t understand who this woman was, her dad told her that it was her mother.
She ran toward Helena, but her mother slipped at the cliff’s edge. Frankie ran faster, her dad right behind her. They had to save her, to keep her from falling to the rocks below. Helena was too far away. They didn’t make it in time.
Horrified, Frankie watched as Helena fell. She’d only just found her, but she was lost again. Now she would never know how it felt to have a mother.
When she woke, the tears dried on her face, Frankie picked up the phone and called Helena. She didn’t want her real life to emulate the dream in any way. It was time to reach out and give her mother a chance.
“Hey, hot stuff, want a cup of latte?” Tim said, as he bounded into Helena’s office. Helena smiled at his enthusiasm, which he had plenty of for just about everything, from caffe lattes to his latest conquest—whose attributes he loved telling Helena down to the last detail. Although there were times when these details made her uncomfortable, she tried not to let on. Tim was a good friend, and she never wanted to hurt his feelings.
He set the coffee down on top of the glass table Helena used as her desk and planted himself in a cushy leather chair opposite her. He smelled of lemongrass soap and clove cigarettes. Tim’s attire was Banana Republic to a tee, from the khakis to the maroon, cable knit turtleneck. Pretty boy handsome, Tim looked as if he’d walked out of the pages of GQ.
His wide-eyed expression told her that he wasn’t going anywhere until she confided in him. “Okay sugar, what’s cooking in that wee head of yours?”
“It’s nothing,” she said.
“That’s it, lie, lie, lie. We addicts are all the same. You might lose the addiction, but never the lying.”
“You’re a pain in the ass. I liked you better when you were flat on your back.” She breathed in her coffee, the perfect wake up call, strong and sweet.
“Yeah, well now I’ve got a clean bill of health. So do tell. I’m always ready for some good dish. No more phone calls, I hope. Or anymore freaky incidents?”
Helena sighed, knowing she couldn’t escape his third degree. “No, that was the only one, and I think I know who might’ve been behind it.”
“Really?”
“I’ve thought long and hard and there’s really only one logical answer—Leeza.”
“No!” He waved his hands in an exaggerated gesture. “What makes you say that?” Tim leaned in, his elbows on her desk, his chin resting in his palms, squinting his dark eyes—the captivated audience.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It makes sense. Leeza would do anything to see me fail with my daughter just out of plain old spite. It’s obvious she never loved Frankie, so I don’t know why she doesn’t let it go. I can’t imagine being consumed with so much hatred she would waste her time on me. But she clearly is, and it all connected for me yesterday when she pulled another stunt.”
“God! That bitch. What did Miss Tell-All do this time?”
“Helena slammed her fists on the desk. She called Frankie yesterday!”
“No. Where does she get her gall? What the hell did she want?”
“Frankie called me yesterday afternoon all upset about Leeza calling her and telling her that she loves her and wants her forgiveness, blah, blah, blah. The poor kid was beside herself.” Tim rolled his eyes. “Can you believe her? Telling my daughter that she loves her. Are you ready for that? After all the crap she’s thrown at us, she has the audacity to tell Frankie that she loves her. That woman couldn’t love anyone.”