Ashes

rouge on the lips, so a loved one might imagine the wan face breaking into a smile.

Stony Hampton was handsome under his green sheet. The wrinkles caused by sixty-odd years of gravity and grimaces were now smoothed. The face, though stiff to the touch, looked relaxed. Stony might as well have been dreaming of a three-day drunk or a '57 Chevy.

Gaines pulled the sheet off the corpse and rolled the casket to the corner of the room. He pulled back the pleated vinyl curtain of the service window, then nudged the edge of the coffin onto the lip of the window. The coffin weighed nearly eight hundred pounds, but the smooth wooden rollers made the work easy. Gaines only had to give a gentle push and Stony Hampton was on the bier, under the soft lights of the viewing parlor.

Gaines checked himself in one of the mirrors that lined the wall. He adjusted his tie and joined Stony in the parlor. Stony was in the spotlight, the star of the show, buffed and polished and ready to receive tribute. The viewing was even more important than the actual funeral, because the loved ones would be examining the guest, and therefore Gaines’ craft, at close proximity.

The first loved ones came in the parlor and signed the memorial book with a brass-plated pen. Gaines watched to make sure the last signer returned the pen to its holder, then went over to greet them, putting on his funeral face as he went.

More loved ones came. Stony had a lot of friends, relatives, and drinking buddies. Gaines solemnly shook hands with each. As they began filing past the guest of honor, Gaines stood against the wall with his hands clasped loosely over the lowest button on his black suit. His eyebrows furrowed in the proper mixture of sorrow and reverence, his jaw clenched so that his smirk of satisfaction wouldn't blossom like the lilies and tulips that girded the dais.

Their tears, their joy, their final respect, all their emotions were due to Gaines' handiwork. This guest, James Rothrock 'Stony' Hampton, was fit for heaven. This was a man they were all proud to have known. This man was one of God's finest and most blessed creations. As the organ music fed through the speakers, not an eye remained dry.

Afterward, Stony's wife came up and gripped Gaines' elbow. Her eyes were wet and bright from too much spiritual uplifting. 'He looks mighty fine, Mr. Wadell. Mighty fine.'

Gaines bowed slightly, tilting his head the way his father had taught him. 'Yes, ma'am. We hate to see him go, but our loss is the Lord's gain.'

'You're so right,' she said, dabbing at her face with a crumpled tissue. 'And it won't be long till we're together again, anyway.'

'That will be a joyful reunion, ma'am,' Gaines said politely, 'but don't you go and rush things.'

'Well, this old heart can't stand up to much more. About worn down from ticking.' Her skin had a slight gray pallor and was stretched tight around the bony angles of her face.

Gaines figured she would be dead within the year. Another guest, another memory to be polished for loved ones, another star born. What Father said was true: The repeat business may not be all that hot, but at least the customers never complained.

He said goodbye to the last loved ones, then locked up and returned Stony to the back room. Gaines removed his jacket and tie and hung them beside a mirror. He looked at his reflection, into the eyes that were the same color as Mother's. His face had the same oval shape as hers. But the blood, the liquid that his heart pumped behind the face and throughout his body, was all Wadell.

Heart. What was it that Alice Hampton had said? Worn down from ticking.

Mother had heart problems. But her doctors wanted to install a pacemaker. That would probably guarantee that she'd last another twenty years. Plenty of time to sell the funeral service and move away. Long enough to demolish everything that Gaines had trained toward since he was six years old.

Gaines looked down and saw that his fists were clenched. He spread his fingers and willed them to stop trembling. Laura Mae Greene was waiting on a gurney in the walk-in refrigerator. She needed his skills. He would not disappoint her. Or her loved ones.

He reached for his apron and mask, then slipped rubber gloves over his eager hands.

'I'll be late tomorrow,' Mother said. 'I have to drive to Asheville for a checkup.'

'Do you want me to drive you?'

'No. I know you have the Hampton funeral. I wouldn't want to take you away from your 'work.''

Gaines put down his fork.

'What's the matter?' Mother said. She divided her filet mignon with delicate sawing motions.

'Just thinking, that's all,' Gaines said.

'Let's not start.' She sipped her wine. Sixty dollars a bottle. False pride.

'Next year I was going to buy some acreage,' he said. 'Carve it into burial plots. Get into monument brokering as well. Make Wadell's a one-stop shopping center for all the aftercare needs.'

Mother slammed her knife onto the table. 'Stop this nonsense. You're going to go out and find an honorable profession. Why, with your talents, I wouldn't even complain if you went to art school.'

'I'm not going to art school.'

'Why are you breaking your poor mother's heart?'

'Are you going to sell the house, too?'

The big fine house stood near the parlor. Grandpa had saved a fortune by building the parlor on property he already owned. Of course she would sell the house. So what if three generations of Wadells had walked these halls and slept in these rooms and dreamed in these beds?

'It's for your own good, don't you see that?' She pushed her plate away. 'All this terrible death and funerals and corpses. How can you stand to do that to those poor people? Your father didn’t have brains enough to have any choice in the matter, but you’re different.'

'Not everyone shares your convictions,' Gaines said. He'd lost his appetite. Not from handling the guts of Laura Mae Greene or touching the cool smoothness of her marbled skin. No, his mother was the aberration. 'I know you want to be cremated. That's your choice. But other people need the hope of eternal rest. They need a peaceful image to carry in their hearts as they say good-bye to a loved one.'

'It's all so horrible. Even if the money is good.'

'Poor Father. All those years, thinking you loved him.'

'I did love him. But you're as hard-headed as he was. He could have sold the Home and got on with life, instead of keeping himself buried alive here.'

'So now that he's dead, it's okay to betray him?'

She stood suddenly, tipping her chair over. Her face was tight from anger, almost a death-mask. 'How dare you say that.'

Then she gasped and clutched at her chest. She gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward. 'Don't… do this… to your dear mother,' she said.

Gaines rushed to her side. He found the nitroglycerin pills in her purse and put one under her tongue. 'There, there,' he said, giving her a glass of water. He led her to a padded chair in the living room.

She recovered after a few minutes. The color returned to her face. She asked for her wine. Gaines brought it to her, and she sipped until her lips were again pink. 'Why are you breaking your poor mother's heart?' she said.

Gaines said nothing.

'Why can't you give me one thing to be proud of?'

He had given her plenty. He was an artist, well-respected in the community. He gave people their final and most important moments. He polished memories.

But Gaines was at ease with the dead. With the living, who wanted words and emotions and hugs and love, he was out of his element. He'd been born to the family work. Even with Mother's eyes, he still had a funeral face.

He left her with her wine and pills and bitterness and went upstairs to bed, to think and dream.

Gaines was alone in the back room.

Stony Hampton's graveside service had been beautiful. The preacher hit all of Stony's high points while overlooking the man's many sins. The loved ones were practically glowing in their melancholy. Alice Hampton had even thrown herself on the coffin.

If only she had known that Stony wasn't inside, she might have become a Wadell customer right there on the