Worry and dread caused the hairs on Aanders’ neck to tingle as he stared at the basement door. A mix of curiosity and anticipation had him on the verge of ripping the door off the hinges and bounding down the stairs, but he knew he couldn't. He had made a promise to his mother and was trying desperately to keep it.
Think of something else, he thought clenching his fists. Anything else. Aanders’ foot tapped rapidly against the stool's leg as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Maybe if he let the hateful words the new kid had shouted at him seep back into his mind, it would shove aside his present predicament. Aanders had looked forward to meeting the new guest at the resort, but when he finally did, all the kid did was tease him about living in a mortuary.
Aanders had learned to benefit from his unique surroundings. Not every kid lived in a mortuary. Not every kid was as brave as they pretended. Not every kid dared touch a dead body. For those brave enough to touch the lifeless flesh, Aanders charged a dollar. After all, hadn't his mother encouraged him to be enterprising?
A burst of sizzling grease signaled supper would soon be ready. Eleven-year-old Aanders watched his mother flip three pieces of chicken in the frying pan. He twiddled the salt shaker between his fingers until it tipped over. Sneaking a look at his mother he covered the salt with his hand, edged it off the counter and watched it sprinkle onto the floor. His blond bangs caught on his eyelashes, twitching when he blinked.
"I thought you'd feel better if I cooked your favorite meal,” Nan said, reaching to brush the hair from her son's face.
Aanders appreciated that his mother wanted to lessen his sorrow, but food didn't appeal to him. If he admitted he wasn't hungry, he'd hurt her feelings. She'd worry. She already had enough on her mind without upsetting her more.
His stomach rolled a queasy warning as his gaze fell on the basement door. A whining dog wasn't making the situation any easier. Belly had parked his bulk in front of the basement door and insisted on being given access to the lower level.
"I don't know why you let that dog in here again,” Nan said. “You know I've asked you not to do that."
"I didn't. He must have slipped in under the hearse door. I've seen him do it before."
Even though Belly's physique resembled a cement truck, he had a weasel's knack at sneaking into the mortuary apartment. The dog must have slipped in when he helped his mother transfer the heavy body bags from the hearse. Belly no longer startled Aanders when he appeared out of nowhere. At least not like his father startled him when he showed up uninvited. Belly's visits were welcomed. Not his father's.
Nan coaxed Belly away from the door with her foot. “After you finish eating, take him back to Sadie's cabin. He's going to ruin the paint on that door.” Sidestepping the dog she added, “This is the second time I've found him clawing on the basement door. I don't know what's gotten into him. Usually he just sleeps in front of the fridge."
Belly's mission in life was to consume food. Lots of food. When not occupied with his vocation, Belly sought the luxury of a good snooze. Aanders often woke with Belly occupying more than half his bed and hogging the pillow. The defining property line between the resort and mortuary meant nothing to Belly.
Belly's heritage was a mystery. He had long legs, a stubby nose, a rotund body covered in brown spots, and a cropped-off tail with four elongated hairs growing out of a bald portion of its tip. When Belly wagged his tail, the black hairs flapped in the breeze adding to the dog's odd appearance. Aanders trimmed the black hairs, but they grew back with gusto. The dog also had only one testicle.
Aanders joined his mother as she stared out the kitchen window. They watched a young woman scoop a toddler into her arms after he wandered too close to the water's edge. The child giggled with glee. The lilt of children's voices echoed back and forth across the short span between the resort and the mortuary before it faded away. It was a sound that usually brought smiles to their faces, but not tonight.
Nan put her arm around Aanders’ shoulder and pulled him closer. “We'll make it through this,” she whispered, placing her lips against his temple.
Aanders blinked hard to divert the tears welling in his eyes.
Belly interrupted the silence with a muffled bark, prancing in front of the basement door. Aanders held his finger to his lips. “Be quiet. Mom's already mad at you.” Belly continued to plead by alternating his soulful stare between Aanders and the boy's mother. Aanders slipped his fingers under Belly's collar. He led him to the pantry and opened a box of treats. Belly sniffed the offering. He gulped it down, snorted, then returned to the basement door.
Aspen leaves flitted outside the kitchen window as if mimicking the energy of the resort crowd. Wisps of wood smoke rose from a nearby campfire. Nan let out a deep sigh, focused her attention on the lawn, and peered at a small, riderless tricycle inching its way down the sidewalk. She leaned closer to the window. The vehicle's pedals turned in sync with the rotation of the tires as it crossed the grass and disappeared over a rise.
Nan stood on her tiptoes. She stretched her torso across the sink and peered sharply to the left. “That's odd."
Aanders plopped down onto a stool. He swiveled back and forth, staring at the window.
"I just saw a tricycle going toward the resort all by itself,” Nan said.
"You mean that blue one?” Seeing his mother nod, he said, “I saw it going the other way when you put the pan on the stove."
"Who was riding it?"
"Nobody."
"Who was pushing it?” Nan turned to look at her son.
"Nobody.” Aanders leaned against the back of the stool. “I thought it was the wind."
Nan frowned at the treetops. “It doesn't look that windy."
She placed a piece of chicken on Aanders’ plate. “You've got to get some food in your stomach before you disappear altogether."
"You always tell me to eat more, but it doesn't help.” Aanders leaned his chin on his fist, absentmindedly stabbing his fork into the meat again and again and again.
"You'll appreciate that when you're older.” Nan stood two inches taller than her five-foot-four-inch son. Aanders had inherited her slim build and Scandinavian features. He bore no resemblance to his father's side of the family.
"Sadie called and asked how you were doing,” Nan said. She brushed her thumb across Aanders’ forehead to wipe the hair from his eyelashes. “She's concerned. She knows you lost your best friend."
"I know,” Aanders said. “She and Jane brought cookies over while you were in the embalming room. I don't like it when Jane cries."
"She cries because she's sad for you. We're lucky to have the Witt sisters as friends.” Nan smiled at her son. “Sadie is like the mother I never had. I think she likes to pretend you're her grandson."
"My friends think she really is my grandmother,” Aanders said. “They say my Grandma is weird. It's embarrassing when they talk about Sadie and her imaginary friends."
"Sadie's not weird. She's eccentric. Sadie means well."
"But she dresses weird. Really weird. That only makes things worse. Why can't she dress like a normal old lady?"
"Sadie's unique. I admit she's a bit strange, but she enjoys life. We should all be more like Sadie.” Nan poured milk into a glass and set it near Aanders. “She's concerned about us because I'm raising you on my own."
"Thank goodness,” Aanders said.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing.” Aanders directed his words toward his feet.
"That's not fair, young man. Don't criticize what you don't understand. You know your father has issues."
"I'm glad he doesn't live here anymore."
"Me too. It's hard to believe it's been four years.” Nan 's voice trailed off. She lifted her hair from her neck, gathered it in her hand, and slipped a band around it. Her blond bob hung just above her shoulders. The damp air raised havoc with her thick, wavy mane making it impossible to manage.
Nan scooped a pad of soft butter from a dish and spread it over a slice of bread. “Put some chokecherry jelly on this. You've got to eat something.” Her shoulders flexed in rhythm with the tapping of her fingers. “You doing okay?” She reached across the counter and patted her son's hand.
"Yeah.” Aanders swiped the back of his hand across his cheek as a tear formed and fell to the counter. He fought the urge to run toward the basement door.
"I'm sorry, Aanders. I'm so sorry you lost your best friend. If it were in my power to change what happened, I would."
Sobs issued forth as Aanders pushed his stool back and walked toward the basement door. “Why did he have to die, Mom?"
"That's one of those questions I can't answer. Every time I work on someone who died unexpectedly, I ask myself that same question. You'd think a funeral director would be used to it by now, but I'm not."
"He's the only friend I ever had,” Aanders cried, placing his palms on the door and leaning his forehead against the wood. “He liked me and didn't make fun of me like the rest of the kids do."
"You'll have other friends. I know you don't believe that now, but you will make other friends."
"I don't want other friends. I want Tim back. I want my best friend back."
Running her hand across Aanders’ hair and pulling him close, Nan said, “I know you do. I want him back, too. I want his whole family back."
Aanders leaned into his mother's embrace, once more fixing his gaze on the basement door.