The Vision (8 page)

chapter 10

Liv had wanted me to come over and help with her Lit paper, but I begged off.

“You sure I don't smell?” she'd asked, mock sniffing her armpit again.

I smiled, not quite able to pull it off. “Positive, Liv.” I shrugged. “Can't keep the dead waiting.” We made plans to go job hunting the next afternoon instead. I gave her the application for The Diner, feeling nauseated just looking at it. When I picked it up, Nick's dad was still alive. Sitting in a booth. Drinking coffee. Now he was as dead as whoever I'd be working on at the funeral home.

Mr. Ludwig already had the body on the table by the time I scrubbed up and came in.

“Feeling better?” he asked without looking up. I saw him delicately slide an arterial tube into the woman's neck. The carotid artery was the injection point for chemicals that flowed through the body, pushing its natural fluids out the jugular vein that ran alongside it. My first embalming had been a fast and repulsive lesson on the circulatory system.

“Yes, thanks,” I answered, trying to be totally cool with the blue-gray hue of the woman's skin, which hung limp as the sheet draped over her lower half. I wondered if I'd ever get used to this. Embalming was the absolute worst part of mortuary work. I could've told Mr. Ludwig I didn't want to do it—I think he knew it was a struggle for me—but I wasn't a quitter so I gutted it out. No pun intended.

Mr. Ludwig stepped back and, satisfied that the ligature was secure, turned the dials and knobs that started the formaldehyde and other chemicals. I wandered to the counter, flipping through the lady's funeral program. Standard-issue stuff: pictures of her with her husband on a cruise ship, surrounded by her kids at a barbecue, an old posed family portrait. The quote was by Emily Dickinson: “Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” I liked that one.

“She wasn't religious?” I asked Mr. Ludwig. They usually used biblical quotes.

He shrugged. “The burial's at St. Matthew's.”

Catholic. But maybe not very devout. “I was doing some reading this weekend,” I told him, ignoring the stealthy hum of the machine. “I never realized how many people believe in reincarnation instead of heaven and hell.” Almost a quarter of the world population, according to Ryan's books.

He gave a quick nod. “Of course. Nearly all of India, Japan, China—the Eastern religions—believe the soul returns in some form, bettering itself until it's reached enlightenment.”

I'd thought about Jackson Kennit during my reading, of course. Had I sent him to be reanimated in a new body? Or was he burning in hell because I hadn't warned him to confess? Which was the truth? What had he believed? And what did it mean if his beliefs were the wrong ones, and reality was different from what he'd built his faith on?

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” I asked Mr. Ludwig.

“It's what I was taught.” He twirled the scalpel gently between his fingers, waiting for this first stage of the embalming to finish. “It's what my mother believes.”

“But do
you
?”

Mr. Ludwig pursed his already-thin lips, the barest of lines across his face while he thought. “Truthfully, I'm not sure what I believe, Cassie,” he said finally. “Death is the simplest act shrouded by the greatest mystery. Any of the scenarios seem equally likely and unlikely to me. It's like asking about the chicken and the egg. The question is unanswerable because its truth can't be tested.”

“Deep,” I said, smiling faintly.

Mr. Ludwig glanced up and smiled too, his face merry again. “It is, isn't it? But that's the essence of religion: faith. Believing in something that cannot be confirmed.” He walked around the table, massaging the woman's arm to break up a blockage.

My eyes traveled to her face, wrinkled, without color or definition, beyond gender or emotion. Was she watching us from heaven? Starting life anew in a different body? Or was this all there was?

“What do you believe?” Mr. Ludwig asked, as if reading my thoughts.

Nan and I never really talked about religion when I was growing up, almost purposely avoiding it, it seemed now, though I wasn't aware of it at the time. I had vague ideas of heaven and hell, but nothing that could really be called a belief. Certainly nothing I'd stake my life—or someone else's—on.

“I guess I believe we should do the best we can with our time here since there's no way to know what happens next,” I said finally.

Mr. Ludwig paused, the barest trace of a smile still on his face. “Yes.” He nodded slowly. “Just so.”

I ran into Ryan as I was leaving the prep room. Literally. He was charging down the short hallway, a cardboard box in front of his face, and I smacked right into him.

“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing his elbow and stooping to pick up the packages of gloves, face masks, and other stuff that had toppled out of the box.

“Sorry,” I said, bending down to help. “I didn't see you.”

“Yeah. Got that,” he answered, looking not at all amused.

We tossed the packages back into the box in silence. I watched Ryan, my head still bent. He wasn't hot like Zander, but definitely cute and interesting. Engaging rather than enticing. I liked him, though I couldn't decide how much. “I've been reading the books you left me,” I said.

“Oh yeah?” He glanced up and I caught a quick half smile before he reached for a roll of cotton.

“Interesting stuff.”

“Like what?” Ryan sat back on his heels, crossing his arms as if daring me to come up with something. Like a teacher giving a pop quiz.

“Well … like how the Baha'i of Iran bury their dead within an hour's travel of the spot where they died. And how Jehovah's Witnesses believe only 144,000 of them can go to heaven. I mean, what a raw deal for virtuous soul number 144,001, right?”

He laughed.

I continued. “And the Tibetan Buddhist monks do some pretty strange stuff to their dead that is, uh … very different from what we do here.”

Ryan was grinning, his eyes—the gray-blue of rain clouds—amused. “That's what you took away from it, huh?”

“Well,” I said, “not only that.” I'd just thought the weird stuff might impress him more. I told him the things Mr. Ludwig and I had talked about.

“What religion are you?” I asked as we walked down the hall toward the supply room, items now stacked haphazardly back in his box.

“Protestant. But I've studied lots of them,” he added. “Gone to different churches. Testing them out, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said slowly, “I do.” It was an idea I'd been toying with for a while. “Listen,” I said impulsively, not certain I wanted him along, but knowing if I had a partner and was committed to a day and time, I'd really go. “I've actually been thinking I'd like to do that. Would you want to, you know, come with me?”

Ryan shrugged like it was nothing, but I could tell he was pleased. “Sure. What'd you have in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking of starting with my church, my people's that is. Greek Orthodox. Maybe this Sunday?”

He nodded. “We'll have to come here straight after.”

“I know. The Rubin burial.”

“Right.”

We stood there awkwardly, then spoke at the same time.

“So, I'll meet you …,” I said, while Ryan said, “Should I pick you …?”

We stopped and I hoped this wouldn't be a mistake. I worried that he might be too eager, that he might like me and think I liked him too—which I did, but maybe not in that way.

But I'd already asked him to go.

“How about we meet here?” I suggested, all business. “Then we can leave our work stuff in the lockers.”

“Do you know what time the service is?”

“Nine.” I'd done the research, just never motivated to actually go.

“And it's about an hour and a half till we get back and all.”

“Yeah, I figure it'll be just enough time.” We were both scheduled at eleven to prep for the service.

“Okay,” he agreed, smiling. “Yeah, great.”

chapter 11

After much deliberation, Liv decided to focus her job search on Addison, the town center closest to her house. She stopped by The Diner, but without experience they'd only hire her to bus tables for minimum wage. Not quite what she'd hoped for. There were a few restaurants in Addison and a strip of stores, so it made sense to keep looking and was better than going to the mall, though there'd still be too many people for my liking. It was hard to imagine where she could apply that there wouldn't be too many people. Other than Ludwig & Wilton, of course.

“Did you tell your parents?” I asked as we sped down Chestnut Street, away from school. I checked my seat belt to be sure it was tight.

“Yeah,” Liv said. “They didn't say I couldn't.”

“But …?”

She shrugged. “My mom was like, ‘You don't need to do that, we have plenty of money' and ‘you should focus on school, there'll be plenty of time to work later.' ”

“Right. Well, you expected that.”

“She wasn't as unreasonable as usual,” Liv said. “Which makes me think that maybe the ‘we have plenty of money' part wasn't totally true.” She sighed. “I wish they'd just tell me the whole story instead of protecting me, you know?”

“Yup. I sure do.”

“Either way, it can't hurt for me to earn my own spending money,” Liv continued, barely pausing at an intersection.
Stoptional,
she'd told me. They'd put up a traffic light if they
really
wanted you to stop. “I just don't feel right about asking them for it now. Plus, I think I just kind of want a job.” She turned the corner, glancing over. “Does that make me weird?”

“You're asking
me
if you're weird?”

“Right.” Liv crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue. “What am I thinking?”

“I don't think it's weird at all,” I said, smiling. “I really like working.”

“And considering I'll be working with people who are actually alive, I should love it.”

“Exactly,” I said. “It's kind of nice to have that something else that's not school and not home.” And not Nick or his dad or death, I thought. I felt a little guilty, like I was taking an unapproved day off, going job hunting with Liv instead of concentrating on my “gift.” But now that I was here, talking about normal things, I realized how much I needed a break.

“Did you work before you came here?” she asked.

“Just over the summer, when I lived in Kansas.”

Liv turned into the parking lot behind the town's strip of stores. “At a funeral parlor?”

“Nope. Coffee shop.”

“Uh-huh.” She zipped up the row of spaces so fast I closed my eyes, afraid to watch the pedestrian sure to become like windshield bug splat. The car swung hard right and jerked to a stop. We were in a spot. Liv killed the engine and asked, “So what on earth made you decide to work where you do now?”

I bit my lip, my mind racing for an answer. “The customers are a lot less cranky?” I said finally.

Liv snorted. “Maybe you should have made stronger coffee instead.”

We went to the three restaurants first and all of them gave her the same spiel. No experience, no job.

“The stores are going to say the same thing,” she said, disappointed.

“Maybe. But let's check it out. Persistence, Liv.”

She trailed behind me, enthusiasm waning as we picked up an application and lukewarm reception at Carey's, Zapatos, and Ever After. And then I had a brainstorm. “What about TREND?” I asked. “We should
totally
go there. You love that place.”

“They will never hire me, Cassie,” she said. “Are you kidding? I'm sure their people have been doing it for, like, years.”

“But you're a complete natural for them. Not like these places.” I waved toward Ever After's flowery purple storefront.

“Maybe …,” she said, totally unconvinced.

We got back in the car and I talked her into going to TREND anyway. It'd be a longer drive, maybe another ten miles from her house, nestled between a yogurt shop and dry cleaner near the highway entrance, but it was so perfect for Liv that she couldn't
not
try. I couldn't believe I hadn't thought of it earlier. It was one of her favorite stores, with a quirky and expensive vintage vibe. She might be right about the experience thing, but I hoped they'd look past that because Liv had an amazing eye for style. She'd completely reorganized my closet one day when we were hanging out, hiding all the orange stuff in the back. “You should
not
wear that color,” she said. “It makes you look jaundiced. And also, I've been meaning to tell you that this skirt”—she held up my favorite kilt—“would look way better with something like this”—tight black T-shirt—“than that baggy sweater you always wear it with.”

“Don't hold back, Liv. Tell me what you really think.”

She shrugged, grinning. “If you'd rather look like a sack of potatoes …”

“No, no,” I said. “Honesty is welcome here. Even if I love that sweater. And orange.” But I knew she was right.

We parked just to the left of TREND's front window so she wouldn't feel like I was staring at her through the plate glass. I waited in the car after a “hold your head high, be confident, you look awesome” pep talk, crossing my fingers that I hadn't just sent her to have her last bit of job confidence shredded. She came out ten minutes later grinning.

“They don't usually hire without experience, but the manager was totally cool. She dug my glasses and remembered me shopping there. I have an interview Monday!”

“That's awesome, Liv!” I said, breathing a huge internal sigh of relief. “I've got a good feeling about this.”

“Me too. Ice cream to celebrate?”

“Absolutely!”

We settled for frozen yogurt, neither of us feeling like trekking to Ben & Jerry's at the mall. I told her what my job interview in Kansas had been like, she asked what she should wear—as if I had any clue—and then she started in on Ryan.

“I'm actually seeing him this weekend,” I admitted. “Outside work.”

“Oooh! A date!”

“It is
so
not a date, Liv. We're going to church.”

She nodded approvingly. “That's very sensible, Cassandra. Show that boy exactly what kind of wholesome, God-fearing girl you are.”

“Ha, ha.”

“Well.” She licked her spoon, then swooped it around the sides, scraping up the final mouthfuls. “I'm glad you're taking my advice at least.”

“Which was …?” I knew what it was but I wanted to hear his name. And anything else she might say about him.

“Duh. To stay away from Zander Dasios.
Obviously
. I'll bet he wouldn't go to church with you.”

“Probably not.” But I couldn't help wondering what it'd be like if he did. If we stood side by side, arms brushing occasionally. My cheeks flushed.

“You're thinking about him,” she said in a singsong voice.

“I'm not.”

“Liar,” Liv said matter-of-factly, shoveling the last spoonful of strawberry yogurt into her mouth.

“I was thinking about going to church.”

“Mm-hmm,” Liv said, smirking as she stood, her empty bowl in hand. “Church always makes me all red in the face too.”