Page 24 of Bitter’s Sweet

I look up at him. “Do you practice being gloomy, or is it natural?”

His mouth twitches. “You practice being cheerful, or is it a medical condition?”

“Natural.”

“Figures.”

We pass through another set of doors into a smaller lounge off the main hallway. It must be for family consultations during ordinary funerals, but there ain’t a thing ordinary about it. The furniture is old velvet, dark red and forest green. A stuffed fox wearing a tiny black veil sits on the mantel. Framed vintage funeral advertisements hang on the walls. Someone has placed a punch bowl on a sideboard beside a coffee urn, a tray of deviled eggs, and a jug labeled CIDER in black marker.

Bitter pours amber liquid from the jug into two paper cups.

“Is that cider or moonshine?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“That ain’t an answer.”

“It is if you’re from here.”

“I’m from here enough to know that means moonshine.”

He hands me the cup. “Sip slow, sunshine.”

Sunshine.

The word rolls off him like an accusation.

I take the cup and sip.

Fire runs over my tongue and straight down my throat. I cough once, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a full sputter.

He grins.

“That ain’t cider.”

“There’s apple in it.”

“Where?”

“Conceptually.”

I laugh and take a smaller sip. “It’s good.”

“You say that like you’re surprised.”

“I was prepared to go blind.”

“Still might.”

He leans against the sideboard, crossing one boot over the other. I sit on the arm of a velvet chair because the actual seat looks like it might swallow me and keep secrets.

Through the open doorway, mourners move in soft clusters. Bikers clap each other on the back. Women dab their eyes and fix lipstick. Laughter rises in bursts, then fades when someone remembers why they are there. It is sad, yes, but not only sad. Death here doesn’t feel tucked away. It stands in the middle of the room with a drink in its hand, wearing leather.

“I like this place,” I say.

Bitter looks at me like I might be contagious. “You’ve been here twenty minutes.”

“I have good instincts.”