Stranger

“I thought it was up my rear.”

My attempt at humor didn’t make him smile. “Don’t be smart, Gracie.”

I raised a brow in a perfect imitation of him. “You want me to be dumb?”

He didn’t smile this time, either. He was really mad. Or upset, I couldn’t tell. “Your sister says you’re seeing somebody. Says you don’t want to bring him around the house. Meet the family.”

I held back the groan. “Hannah talks too much.”

He snorted. “I won’t argue with that, but is she right? You have some fella you don’t want to bring around? You’re ashamed of us, or what?”

“Oh, Dad. No.”

“No, you’re not ashamed,” he said, “or no, you don’t have a fella?”

I should’ve known better than to try to get around my dad by twisting words. “No to both.”

“Huh.” He gave me an eye. “Is it Jared?”

I wanted to laugh, but the sound that came out didn’t quite make it. “What?”

My dad jerked a thumb toward my office door. “Jared.”

“Oh, God. No, Dad.” My head tried to fall into my hands, but I kept it up. “He’s my intern.”

My dad huffed a little more. “People talk, that’s all.”

“People like you?” I folded my hands together on my desk.

My dad didn’t look ashamed. “I’m just saying. You’re a lovely young woman. He’s a young guy.”

I sighed, heavily and on purpose. “And he’s my intern. That’s it. Drop it, okay?”

My dad just looked at me, up and down. He didn’t say he was sorry, the way my mom would’ve, and he didn’t bug me for answers the way my sister would have. He just shook his head slowly from side to side and left me to wonder what that meant.

“What’s that sign out there say?”

Whatever I’d imagined he might say, it wasn’t that. “Frawley and Sons.”

My dad nodded. He put his glasses away into his breast pocket. He stood, the folder of bills in one hand. “Think about that.”

He turned to go, apparently not planning to say anything else, and I got up. “Dad!”

My dad stopped in the doorway, but didn’t look at me.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I cried.

He looked at me then, the same look he’d given when I’d sneaked in after curfew, or brought home a bad grade. The look said he knew I could do better. More than could. Should. Must. Would.

“I’m sure your sister won’t let her kids come within an arm’s length of this place. Your brother…” He paused, but only for a second. “Craig, if he ever has any, won’t either.”

“So it’s up to me, is that what you’re saying?” I blinked, hard, thinking the sting in my eyes would go away.

“You’re getting older, too, Gracie, that’s all I’m saying.”

If I was getting older, why was he still so good at making me feel like a kid? “Dad! Are you kidding me? You are not actually suggesting I need to get married, are you? Have some sons? Just for a stupid sign?”

He bristled. “There’s nothing stupid about that sign!”

“Right, nothing stupid except for the fact I’m not a son!” My shout shot around the room and hung there for a moment until silence defeated it.

Everyone had assumed my brother would take over from my dad. Everyone but Craig. The news had finally been delivered one Thanksgiving when the inevitable argument erupted between him and our dad about Craig stepping into the shoes of the son in Frawley and Sons. Craig, eighteen at the time, planned to go to NYU film school instead. Craig had left the table and not come back for a long time. He lived in New York with a series of increasingly younger actresses and made commercials and music videos. One of his documentaries had been nominated for an Emmy.

“I’ll get these back to you in a few days,” he said.

My dad pushed through the door and I watched him go, then sank back into the seat behind the desk. My chair. My place. My fucking desk, if you wanted to get right down to it. This was my office, and my business now.

Even if I wasn’t a son.

I’d never thought of Jared as anything other than an intern, but knowing that other people were making romantic assumptions about us, I couldn’t stop thinking about him like that. It pissed me off. Until now, we’d had the perfect working relationship. It was as uncomplicated as my dates with Mrs. Smith’s gentlemen.

It wasn’t as if I’d never noticed Jared was attractive or anything. He had a nice face, kept in shape, had an affable personality that made him easy to get along with. We joked a lot, but I’d never had even a hint that he was flirting with me, and I know I never did with him. Why couldn’t men and women just be friends without someone, somewhere, shoehorning sex into it? On the other hand, why did everyone assume that having sex with someone meant you had to fall in love?

“Hey, Grace. Want me to give Betty a bath while I’m out there?”

“You know, I have noticed you have a serious hearse fetish, Jared.” I took the last pile of brochures from the printer and stacked them neatly on Shelly’s desk for her to fold. “But sure. If you want to.”

“Sweet.” Jared grinned and headed out through the back doors into the parking lot and the fresh April air.

Black Betty was my car. A 1981 Camaro, it had been Craig’s first, purchased with his after-school newspaper-delivery money in honor of his obsession with the punk band The Dead Milkmen. I’d inherited it when he’d moved to New York. I only drove it when I didn’t want to use the funeral home’s minivan emblazoned with the Frawley and Sons logo. It was my sex car. She didn’t quite run like lightning, but she sure sounded like thunder. Jared lusted after her. I noticed boys did that a lot. Ben had, too.

I followed him to the garage, a converted carriage house barely big enough to fit our hearse, the minivan we used to transport bodies and Betty. Bigger funeral homes had more cars, and someday I hoped to add a flower car or a vehicle mourners could ride in. One thing at a time.

“You coming to help me?” Jared filled a bucket with water from the spigot and grabbed up a big sponge from one of the neatly kept shelves. He’d already pulled the hearse out into the driveway. “I thought you hated washing the hearse.”

“Yeah. My dad used to make me and Craig do it every Saturday.” I didn’t take a sponge and stayed well away from the splash zone. I was still dressed for work and had an appointment in an hour.

Jared gave me a curious look. “You worried I’m going to hurt Betty or something?”

“No.” I looked fondly at the car that had seen me through two proms, college and numerous other escapades. “She’s a big girl. She can take care of herself.”

Jared snorted and dipped his sponge into the soapy water, then knelt next to the hearse and started working on the wheels. “Just as long as she doesn’t come to life and start killing people. Hey. That would be a good twist, huh? The car goes around knocking people off to bring more business.”

“Ha, ha.” I shook my head. “Don’t ever say anything like that to my dad.”

“I won’t. Your dad’s scary enough.” Jared scrubbed, then gave me a glance over his shoulder. “Boss, you’ve got something to talk to me about?”

I didn’t, really. I couldn’t exactly tell him my dad and maybe half the town thought we were schtupping. “I just wanted to tell you that you’re doing good work. That’s all.”