Or worse yet, Nolan would see it, too. And nothing good could come from these two men learning they shared a grandchild. If Nolan grew demanding and were to lose the only job he had ever performed with any consistency, he would surely blame Emmalee for that like he did most other things that left him cross.
“Worst cases always in the dead of night. Wonder why that is, Nolan?” Mr. Fulton asked.
“No shit.”
“Stop that cussing, old man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t seem right—cussing and tending to the dead at once. We promise dignity at all times. From pickup to burial, always respectful. That’s what our ad in the paper says every single week, and I mean to honor those words. And you work for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d just think after all these years, you’d know where I stand on that kind of talk.” Even when Mr. Fulton reprimanded Nolan, his voice sounded kind. “Come on. Sheriff’s probably waiting on us, and I want to get those bodies to the funeral home before daybreak if possible. This is not a spectator sport, and this one’s already drawing plenty of attention. Three calls came in before midnight. Hester says these people can’t get enough of a good funeral.”
The cot squeaked and moaned, and Emmalee knew Nolan was lacing his boots, preparing for the night’s grim work. “Go on and get the hearse running,” he said. “I’ll fetch my coat and meet you out there.”
“All right, but hurry it along. Like I said, I want to get on with it.” Mr. Fulton opened the door. “Why don’t you follow me over there in your truck. We might need it given the circumstance.” The door shut.
“Who is it, Nolan?” Emmalee said, sitting straight up in bed. “You hear me? Who was it?”
Nolan slid across the floor. “Sounds like a couple from Old Lick.”
“But who? What couple?” Emmalee crawled on her knees to the end of the bed. “Nolan!”
The door slammed closed, and the house shook. This time Emmalee’s body heaved forward as though she were going to retch. Her head grew dizzy, and she dropped back onto the bed. She reached for her baby, looking for someone, even a newborn, to comfort her.
The hearse rolled past her window and down the drive, kicking up mud and rock in its wake. Nolan followed in the pickup. Its suspension rattled as it hit the holes washed deep by the week’s rains.
Emmalee tried to move her arms and legs, but her body felt weighted to the bed. Tattered pieces of tar paper flapped against the sides of the plywood covering the house, and bare branches from the forsythia bush rooted outside the bedroom window scraped the panes as if begging for her attention. The baby whimpered some more, kicking her legs and straining to lift her head. Emmalee lay frozen on her back, peering through the pinpoint holes that peppered the tin roof.
The clock read seventeen minutes past two. Emmalee pulled herself out of bed and began the long wait for her father’s return.
L EONA
O LD L ICK
1956
Leona fiddled with the thin gold band on her finger. Curtis had placed it there that morning promising to love and cherish her forever. The young bride followed close behind her boyish husband, holding his hand tight, as he led her to a patch of open land flecked with purple crowned thistle and wild lettuce. She listened without interruption as he gushed about the house he promised to build her some day—a frame house, he told her, painted yellow, her favorite color.
Curtis planned to add a wraparound porch in a year or two so Leona would have the perfect place to watch the sun set while rocking their babies that were sure to come. With his warm blue eyes, he nodded toward the laurel hell rooted among the pines and hardwoods and promised by the time they bloomed bright again she would have the home of her dreams.
Leona stood in the spring grass and admired the new home. She watched intently as Curtis pointed with his free hand and etched into the air the tin roof he imagined. It
“Worst cases always in the dead of night. Wonder why that is, Nolan?” Mr. Fulton asked.
“No shit.”
“Stop that cussing, old man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t seem right—cussing and tending to the dead at once. We promise dignity at all times. From pickup to burial, always respectful. That’s what our ad in the paper says every single week, and I mean to honor those words. And you work for me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d just think after all these years, you’d know where I stand on that kind of talk.” Even when Mr. Fulton reprimanded Nolan, his voice sounded kind. “Come on. Sheriff’s probably waiting on us, and I want to get those bodies to the funeral home before daybreak if possible. This is not a spectator sport, and this one’s already drawing plenty of attention. Three calls came in before midnight. Hester says these people can’t get enough of a good funeral.”
The cot squeaked and moaned, and Emmalee knew Nolan was lacing his boots, preparing for the night’s grim work. “Go on and get the hearse running,” he said. “I’ll fetch my coat and meet you out there.”
“All right, but hurry it along. Like I said, I want to get on with it.” Mr. Fulton opened the door. “Why don’t you follow me over there in your truck. We might need it given the circumstance.” The door shut.
“Who is it, Nolan?” Emmalee said, sitting straight up in bed. “You hear me? Who was it?”
Nolan slid across the floor. “Sounds like a couple from Old Lick.”
“But who? What couple?” Emmalee crawled on her knees to the end of the bed. “Nolan!”
The door slammed closed, and the house shook. This time Emmalee’s body heaved forward as though she were going to retch. Her head grew dizzy, and she dropped back onto the bed. She reached for her baby, looking for someone, even a newborn, to comfort her.
The hearse rolled past her window and down the drive, kicking up mud and rock in its wake. Nolan followed in the pickup. Its suspension rattled as it hit the holes washed deep by the week’s rains.
Emmalee tried to move her arms and legs, but her body felt weighted to the bed. Tattered pieces of tar paper flapped against the sides of the plywood covering the house, and bare branches from the forsythia bush rooted outside the bedroom window scraped the panes as if begging for her attention. The baby whimpered some more, kicking her legs and straining to lift her head. Emmalee lay frozen on her back, peering through the pinpoint holes that peppered the tin roof.
The clock read seventeen minutes past two. Emmalee pulled herself out of bed and began the long wait for her father’s return.
L EONA
O LD L ICK
1956
Leona fiddled with the thin gold band on her finger. Curtis had placed it there that morning promising to love and cherish her forever. The young bride followed close behind her boyish husband, holding his hand tight, as he led her to a patch of open land flecked with purple crowned thistle and wild lettuce. She listened without interruption as he gushed about the house he promised to build her some day—a frame house, he told her, painted yellow, her favorite color.
Curtis planned to add a wraparound porch in a year or two so Leona would have the perfect place to watch the sun set while rocking their babies that were sure to come. With his warm blue eyes, he nodded toward the laurel hell rooted among the pines and hardwoods and promised by the time they bloomed bright again she would have the home of her dreams.
Leona stood in the spring grass and admired the new home. She watched intently as Curtis pointed with his free hand and etched into the air the tin roof he imagined. It
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