him?” Damn, but his smile is beautiful. Shame I’m about to wipe it clean off his face.
“Well, he’s usually the one to accompany Momma on body retrievals, only he came down with the flu, and I have a meeting with a family and Daddy’s in the middle of an embalming.”
His answering laugh lacks its usual warmth. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he groans.
“So, you’ll go?” I can’t keep the surprise from my voice.
He takes his time, retrieving his shirt from his pocket and shaking off all the dust before pulling it over his head. “On one condition.”
“Name it,” I rush out.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” He clucks his tongue. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Huh?”
“I’m ‘bout to go earn me a date,” he says, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
Why on earth did I agree to do this?
I’m beginning to question my own sanity while I follow Mrs. Marie’s instructions and pull around to the rear entrance of Moss Pointe Retirement Community.
“Just back the van up to those doors.”
“You got it.” A cool sweat breaks out over my forehead and the nape of my neck as I maneuver the white stalker van under the covered parking and the reality of what I’m doing here begins to sink in.
“I really appreciate you helping us out like this, Wyatt.” Her smile conveys her gratitude while her eyes hold the sincerest of apologies.
“No problem.” And it’s not—so long as I ignore the fact that my esophagus is collapsing in on itself and I’m beginning to feel a bit woozy.
I meet up with her at the double doors at the rear of the van, where she’s already sliding the gurney out of its slot. “Come with me,” she says heading for the entrance. When the automatic doors slide open, I’m hit with the scent of antiseptic and coffee, a smell that triggers memories of late-night emergency room visits with Mimi and Pop as a child.
It’s my first time in a retirement home, and I find myself stunned by how clinical of an environment it is. I guess I expected that since it serves as a residence, it would be a little homier—warm and inviting. This place is neither of those, although I’m sure my purpose for being here is clouding my judgment.
We’re met inside by a few staff members who are obviously quite familiar with Marie Daigle. She talks in hushed tones with the head doctor while they lead us back to the patient’s room. We’re told he died peacefully in his sleep. The family has already come and said their goodbyes, and they’ve been instructed to contact the funeral home to make the arrangements. The body has been cleaned and prepared for transport.
“These are the easy ones. Sometimes,” she whispers as she lowers the cot, positioning it beside the bed, “we have to bag ’em ourselves.”
It takes me a second to realize she’s referring to the dead body that’s already nicely zipped for us. “Can’t imagine that’s very pleasant.” I shudder at the thought.
“Oh, darlin’, nothing about this profession ever is.”
“Then why do you do it?” I ask, stationing myself at the foot of the bed while she takes the head.
“You know, oftentimes I ask myself that same question, and it always boils down to, if not us, who?” She shrugs her shoulders, and that’s the end of that. “Make sure you get a good grip on his ankles, and when I count to three, we’re gonna lift and move him over to the gurney.”
Somehow, despite feeling like I’m going to hurl, I muster the wherewithal to follow her orders.
“You done good,” she says, brushing a tuft of hair from in front of her face with the same hand she just used to move a dead body.
“Thanks,” I rasp, internally cringing while rushing to the sink at the far end of the room. I rip my gloves off and fling them into the bin before scrubbing my skin raw.
“You had gloves on,” she huffs, shaking her head while busying herself with fastening the straps. I’m amazed by how comfortable she seems—how this is all second nature to her, while I have never been more freaked out in my life.
“You ’bout done?”
“Almost,” I say, passing my hand under the automatic sanitizer dispenser a few times and slathering it all the way up to my elbows.
Her eyes widen.
“I’m good,” I say, waving my hands through the air to dry them off.
“You sure?” Marie chuckles. “Cuz there’s a shower behind that door.” She dips