face. “I’ve heard of these. Never actually filled one yet, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”
She grins. “I found it on a handmade site, online…it’s actually made from a cast of William’s penis.”
“That is…amazing,” I say, at a loss for how to respond. “You know you’re still gonna need an urn. Even with the dragonfly and…receptacle, you’ll have a lot of cremains left.”
“Oh, okay,” she says, shoving it back into her bag. “Lead the way.”
We spend almost an hour in the show room before she finally decides on a large black marble urn with a matching miniature for William’s parents. After selections have been made, we go back to my office to finalize details and sign papers and then I get up to see her out.
“Wait,” she says, when we reach my office door. “I almost forgot to give this back to you. She whips out William’s penis for the second time, and it’s still just as shocking.
“Oh, you can just hold on to that and take a little of the cremains from the urn when you pick it up to fill it.”
We’ve managed to get through over two hours together without more than a few tears during what has to be the hardest day of this woman’s life, until now. Heaving sobs wrack her fragile form.
I shut the door, guiding her back to the chair. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not you,” she says, her lower lip quivering while she snivels into her sleeve. “I—I’m too afraid to—to touch the ummm…the…”
“The ashes?” I offer, realizing what I’m going to have to do. There’s not much we aren’t willing to accommodate in order to ease the pain of our clients. And it’s starting to look like this will be no different.
She nods.
“Hand it over,” I say, with as much dignity as I can muster.
She spits a laugh through her tears. “I know I’m ridiculous… God, this is so embarrassing. I promise, it hasn’t been used.”
Even with years of experience keeping my wits in the most asinine situations, I cannot contain the loud cackle that bursts from my chest. “I really should have thought to ask that question before grabbing it with my bare hands, huh?”
We’re both rolling by the time she gets up again to leave. “You have no idea how much I appreciate this, Whitney.”
“Don’t mention it,” I say, walking her to the front door. “Your husband’s penis is in good hands with me.”
Just one…more…screw… I bend until my cheek is almost meeting the floor, twisting my wrist to get the drill beneath the pew and attach the custom kneeler. My back and shoulders are on fire from being in this crouched position for so long. Sweet mercy is finally within reach… lunch break!
“Nice plumber crack ya got goin’ there.”
Thunk! “Ouch! Son of a—”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”
I come up, holding the throbbing lump already protruding from the crown of my head. It’s more than possible I exaggerate the pain just a smidge when Whitney crouches beside me to inspect the damage. “Fuck. That hurt.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” she offers, biting back a grin. “Does it hurt really bad?”
“You think this is funny?” I growl, wincing for affect.
She shakes her head, letting a snort slip through as she reaches around moving my hands out of the way to feel for herself. “It’s not.” She sucks in her cheeks. “It’s not funny…”
Dear Lord, but it amuses me how hard she’s working to keep a straight face. “You trying to convince me? Or yourself?”
“I just can’t help it.” She snickers. “I have this awful habit of laughing when people hurt themselves.” With the gentlest touch, she rubs the pads of her fingers over the knot. “I mean, I like to think if anyone were ever seriously injured in my presence, I would react appropriately.”
I grip the back of the pew, cracking my knees when I push up to standing, then reach for her hand to help her back up. “Well, at least we know you ended up in the right career.” I take a brief moment to appreciate how beautiful she looks today with her hair pinned up in a bun and a blouse that’s cut just high enough to pass for decent while still offering a hint of mouthwatering cleavage. That milky expanse of skin along her neck is just begging for my lips. My pulse speeds up, and I’m feeling hot beneath the collar.
“Why do you say that? Because they’re dead?”
Her question draws me