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Getting out of the funeral home was a shock, because Bryn still hadn’t gotten used to the beauty of being home. Well, not home home—her family lived in the not-very-scenic town of Clovis, New Mexico—but being back in the States had given her a new appreciation of how lovely it could be.
Especially southern California. It was a land of contrasts—the cool blue of the Pacific rolling into the distance, shrouded with a cloak of mist at the horizon, and the pale desert hills studded with cacti and patches of scrub trees. Stark and lovely.
Bryn couldn’t believe she was living here. Couldn’t believe it was her home now. It still seemed like some kind of dream; any second now, she’d wake up sweating in her uncomfortable bunk and start another day of IED Russian roulette.
No, it’s real, she told herself. This is real. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath of sweet, clean air—dry, warm, but not the oppressive stinging heat of Iraq.
“Bryn?” Mr. Fairview was standing at his Town Car, holding open the passenger door.
“Sorry, sir,” she said. “Just enjoying the view. It’s beautiful. “
Fairview smiled a little, and to her eyes, it loo
ked cynical. “It’s expensive,” he said. “When my great-great-grandfather built this place, I’m sure he did it for the cheap land; today, the taxes alone are ruinous. ” She shot him a startled glance. “Oh, not that we’re hurting for money, Bryn. One thing about the dead: they just never stop coming. ”
That was one of the more unsettling—and yet weirdly comforting—things Bryn had ever heard.
The drive down the winding road to the restaurant in La Jolla took only ten minutes, but it seemed longer simply because of the silence in the car. Fairview, Bryn discovered, was not prone to chat. That was fine; she was used to silence—loved it, in fact. Her family life had been full of noise and chaos, and most of her college memories were of loud hall parties and stereo wars, not studying. The army, though, had introduced her to a whole new scale of what it meant to be noisy.
She’d learned to sleep through anything, when she had the chance to sleep; she’d also learned to relish the calm, cool peace of silence.
It settled between her and Fairview like the fog on the ocean.
“Here we are,” he finally said, and turned the car onto La Jolla’s main drag, lined with colorful shops, restaurants, and high-priced hotels. It was beautiful, in a way that most other shopping districts couldn’t quite pull off. Maybe it was the sea view, since the hill sloped right down to the rocks and the gently rolling waves. Fairview expertly negotiated the narrow parking space with the big car and shut the engine off.
As he reached for the handle of his door, Bryn said, “Sir, can I ask a question?”
He glanced over at her, surprised. “Of course. ”
“You have relatively few employees, sir. I mean, there are only four of us that I’m aware of; is that right? The receptionist, you, me, and—”
“Freddy,” he said. “Our downstairs man. Yes. ”
“That’s a very small crew for even a small mortuary. I’m a little concerned about our ability to cover—”
“Don’t you worry; we’ll do fine,” he said. “We used to employ a half dozen people in your position alone, but the fact is, even though people keep dying, our business has fallen off some. More people choosing cheaper corporate-run funeral homes; you know how it is. But that doesn’t mean we don’t have work. Some days it’ll be hectic, but I’m sure you can handle it. I outsource body pickups. That’s half of the work right there. ”
He walked her to the door, opened it gallantly, and the maitre d’ showed them to a table. It was all very fancy, to Bryn’s eyes: real tablecloths, crystal, fine silverware, and china plates. The waitress wore nicer shoes than she had on.
Once served, Bryn stared doubtfully down at a plate full of what looked like weeds drenched in sauce, and picked around with her fork. She decided the green stuff looked safe enough, and tried it. Like lettuce, but with spice. Not too bad. Mom would have called it yard salad, she thought, and almost choked on a suppressed laugh. Ain’t we grand now?
“How’s your appetizer, Bryn?” Mr. Fairview asked. He stirred a cup of coffee, making it look like the most elegant thing in the world, with carefully ordered swirls of his spoon in the small china cup, never once making any uncouth noise about it.
She swallowed and managed a smile. “Very good, sir. Thank you. ” She’d let him order for her, and if the salad was this weird, she had no idea what she was in for with the main course—but she’d eaten worse overseas; that much was certain. It was part of why her tastes remained so damn simple.
“I have to admit, you’re the first woman I’ve ever hired who served in the military,” he said, and nodded to the hovering, perfectly dressed waiter who waited to refill their water glasses. The whole restaurant had that hushed, whispering elegance to it that made Bryn feel every thread of her not-designer clothes and Payless shoes. There were ladies in here wearing jewelry that cost more than her annual salary. “I’m very interested to hear about your experience. You served in Iraq, I understand?”
Baghdad seemed like it wasn’t in the same universe as this place, and Bryn felt a creeping sense of unreality in even tackling the topic. “I’m afraid it’s not very interesting,” she said, hoping he’d take the hint. She quickly took another bite of the salad. Not so bad. She could get used to it. You could get used to anything, in time.
“On the contrary, I find it fascinating that someone like you would choose to sign up during a time of war,” Mr. Fairview said. “That tells me quite a bit about your character, you know. ”
Not so much about her character as her upbringing, Bryn imagined, but she didn’t see any need to tell him about growing up poor in a family with two parents on minimum wage and six brothers and sisters, and doing it in a semirural town where aspiring to go to an Ivy League college was looked on as suspiciously elitist. Joining the military was a good, proper thing to do—even for a girl, these days—and if it paid off those expensive college bills, well, that was all right. Her brother Tate had followed in her footsteps, right into the uniform. He was a smart kid, the only smart one in the family, really. She had hopes for him.
She’d taken too long to answer, she realized, and covered it with a smile that felt shy. “You flatter me, Mr. Fairview,” she said. “The army seemed like the best option to help me pay off my student loans. It trained me, showed me the world, and gave me a good start for the rest of my life. ” That sounded straight out of the recruiting brochures, and it said nothing at all about the sheer hell she’d gone through—the merciless and constant hazing, the blatant discrimination, the harsh conditions and constant fear of her surroundings and even of her comrades. She’d learned a lot, all right.
Mostly, she’d learned she never wanted to go to war again, and to avoid those who did want to.
And to keep her mouth shut about all of it.
