Page 8 of Melancholia

“Do you need me to go in? I can put him on ice for you? I can⁠—”

“—You do it.” He cuts back in, though I’m sure I’ve missed quite a few words by the sound of it. Still, my hands freeze mid-pawing through the laundry, and I hesitate.

“Could you say that again, Cecil? It’s storming pretty bad here, and⁠—”

“I told her you could do it. She’s directing the coroner to take him over to Kindred. They’ll probably be there within the hour, I’d say.”

I freeze, glancing at the television that’s in sleep mode with the current time bouncing around the screen.

12:52

It’s not often I’m called into work at one am, and definitely not something I look forward to. “You want me to?” I ask anyway, perplexed. “If she knows you and wants you to do it⁠—”

“She doesn’t want him going to Philly. Don’t ask me why. I told her Elroy was just fine, that he—” With another flicker of lightning outside my window, the phone cuts out again.

“Yeah. Okay. I can do it.” I’ve barely had any work to do except for housekeeping and bookkeeping in the days he’s been gone. Unsurprisingly, a small town like Still Pines barely has any unexpected deaths. Well, at least ones like this that no one saw coming. “Is there anything I need to know?”

The phone is quiet for so long that I make sure our call hasn’t been disconnected. From the dim light of my bedside table, I finally locate a hoodie to drag on over my sweatpants, and my hair goes up in a messy ponytail. I don’t bother brushing it. The dead bodies don’t judge too harshly, and surely anyone living will understand that I’m not exactly at my best after being woken up in the middle of the night.

“It’s a suicide, Nell.”

That stops me dead in my tracks. The hand reaching for my keys freezes, fingers outstretched, and I need a moment to just stand there.

Cecil and I have never really talked much about my time before Still Pines. But even though I’ve guarded my history like it might matter to anyone other than me, he’s picked up enough details to know that things weren’t always so great for me.

And still aren’t, a lot of the time, but that’s not really relevant usually.

“Okay,” I say finally, rifling through my brain for anything I need to remember. It’s easier to make it seem impersonal. Practical, even. This is just another body. Another facet of my job.

I’ve never worked on someone who killed themselves before, I don’t say.

But fuck, I really hope this kid doesn’t show up as my next visitor, or my therapist is going to be working overtime just for me.

“Okay, that’s fine. I’m fine, Cecil.” I try to reassure him, keeping my voice light without sounding fake. Or at least, that’s my goal. When he hesitates, I’m not sure I’ve succeeded. “Seriously. I’ll be fine. It’s totally fine.” I don’t know what else to say, or if I need to pinkie swear that this won’t end up resurrecting the ideations that I’ve worked pretty hard to get rid of. “I can do it.”

“You’re sure?” I hate the open, raw concern in his voice and the way it makes me itch.

Even though he’s not my parent, he cares more about my well-being than the person who gave birth to me ever did.

Especially after Elaina died.

But that’s a dangerous road to tread any time of day, and especially right now. So I push thoughts of her out of my head and finally grab my keys, shoving them into the loose pocket of my sweats.

“I’m very sure. I’ve got this. Just trust me, okay?” Scooping up my phone, I hesitate before grabbing my headphones and their charger. “I won’t do anything stupid or cry in front of anyone important.”

“That isn’t what I’m worried about.” His voice is solemn, and my forced smile fades as I stand in front of my door, not caring that I look like I’ve just crawled out of bed.

“Don’t worry, Cecil,” I murmur at last. “I won’t try to talk about coffin interior choices with the family again. Learned my lesson on that one.” It’s a stupid response. I’m not even trying to sound believable, and there’s no way in hell that Cecil thinks I’ll talk about funeral flowers with anyone. It’s not my job, after all, and I know nothing about them.

But he forces out a soft, rueful chuckle. “Good. No offense, but you don’t have the look of someone who can talk coffin styles.” He’s humoring me, throwing me a bone so I don’t have to acknowledge why he’s really worried, even if he doesn’t know enough to do more than form an educated opinion on the subject of me.

“Yeah.” I stand there for a few more seconds before Cecil finally puts me out of my misery.

“Call me if you need anything. Or if you need me to come back early. Mrs. Elliot can be a lot. If you need help, Adele could⁠—”

“Thank you, Cecil. I’m good. It’s all good.” If I don’t cut him off early, he’ll keep rambling. “Don’t you have a wedding to get ready for in a few hours?” Truthfully, I have no idea what day the wedding is.

“Well, yes…” Apparently, I guessed right. He sounds a little embarrassed at being caught, and suddenly Cecil clears his throat, prompting a small smile to curl over my lips.