Beth Solheim: At Witt's End

"I know you have. But it would sure make it easier if I could see them. It's embarrassing when I sit on them all the time."

"That's not going to change. I'm not going to be given an assistant, either. When the day comes someone else is designated to take over, I'll probably be long gone."

"How are you going to deal with the crossers if we lose the resort?"

"I don't know. I just don't know,” Sadie said. “Why can't you be more like me and quit worrying."

"I don't want to be like you. I don't want people thinking I'm crazy because I talk to imaginary friends."

Glaring at her sister over the rim of her orange frames, Sadie said, “I think somebody messed up at the hospital when we were born."

"Oh not this again,” Jane said. “I'm tall. You're short. Big deal. That doesn't mean we're not twins."

"At least I don't have your fat ass."

"At least I'm not a boobless half-pint. And don't tell me you're not jealous. I know better,” Jane said.

Sadie stood and hurried to the door as Belly let out a high-pitched yelp. One end of the dog wagged frantically while the other end poked through the porch railing and whined at the man behind the Norway pine. A briefcase corner protruded from the edge of the tree.

To the right of the tree, several children in bathing suits jostled for position in front of an ice cream cart. Sadie winced with compassion when a child's chocolate ice cream tumbled from its cone and landed on the ground at the girl's feet. Heat waves rippled up from the pathway. The youngsters licked as fast as they could to catch the drops of melting ice cream before they trickled down their arms. The man peered around the tree at the children.

"I still don't understand why they picked you to take care of the crossers instead of me. I'd be just as good at it as you are.” Jane nodded sharply.

Sadie stuck her little finger in her right ear and screwed it back and forth. “My hearing must be on the blink. I thought you said you'd be as good at it as I am."

"Maybe even better.” Jane's voice caught in her throat. She frowned as three scantily clad teenagers hurried toward the beach. “Good grief,” she said under her breath. Her gaze lingered on their thonged bottoms. “That's disgusting."

Filling a mug with coffee, Sadie placed it on one of Jane's lace doilies and motioned to her sister to return to her chair. “Drink this. Quit dwelling on our problems. Maybe you could call Mr. Bakke to see if he wants to go for a pontoon ride."

Sadie inched her fingers through her black hair. Black, verging on blue, happened to be the color-of-the-week at Big Leon's beauty shop. She picked at the gelled spikes she had created earlier in the day to make sure they were still standing erect. Glancing at her reflection in the window, she turned from side to side, eyeing the new leopard-print shirt the postman had left in her mail box. She made a mental note to order another push-up bra. Maybe one with a little more lift. She wanted to wow them at the Fertile Turtle. That's if she ever found the time to go dancing again.

Jane's hand suddenly splayed across her chest. “Have you told Nan about the lawsuit? If we lose, she could be evicted from the mortuary."

Sadie loved Nan Harren like a daughter. She cared for Aanders like the grandson she wished she had. The feelings were shared. Harren Funeral Home sat at the edge of the resort property next to Cabin 14. Nan and her eleven-year-old son occupied an apartment in the mortuary, originally designed to house mortuary science students. The land lease the Witt sisters held on the mortuary would be worthless if they lost the lawsuit.

Sadie's eyes sparked with anger. “Every time I think about Carl's lies in that lawsuit my head feels like it's going to explode. Carl Swanson is a demented rat. Apparently the money he inherited from his grandfather isn't enough."

Sadie pointed toward the bookshelf. “Did you see this morning's newspaper? That big liar's decided to run for sheriff. If you think Carl's a jerk now, wait till he's elected."

"I saw that. I can't believe he'd do something that stupid. Who would vote for him? Everyone knows he's a donkey's patootie."

Jane drained her coffee cup. “Well? Have you told Nan, or not?"

" Nan 's got enough to worry about. She's got three bodies to prep and one of them is Tim. Nan loved Tim. He spent a lot of time with Aanders.” Sadie tapped her ear lobe, setting the dangling beads in motion. “How do I tell a dear friend she might lose everything? I can't do it. What if I tell her and then the judge rules in our favor? The last thing she needs is more stress,” Sadie said.

Justifying the reason she'd postponed the inevitable nagged her to distraction. Even though she knew her sister disagreed, Sadie was willing to wait for the pendulum to swing in favor of providence rather than misfortune.

" Nan 's had to live with rejection all her life. Can you imagine what losing the mortuary would do to her?” Sadie turned her ear toward the door as she heard footsteps plink across the wooden porch.

Dread filled Sadie. She glanced through the screen door just in time to see the man in the black suit disappear into the woods.

Worry and dread caused the hairs on Aanders’ neck to tingle as he stared at the basement door. A mix of curiosity and anticipation had him on the verge of ripping the door off the hinges and bounding down the stairs, but he knew he couldn't. He had made a promise to his mother and was trying desperately to keep it.

Think of something else, he thought clenching his fists. Anything else. Aanders’ foot tapped rapidly against the stool's leg as he leaned on the kitchen counter. Maybe if he let the hateful words the new kid had shouted at him seep back into his mind, it would shove aside his present predicament. Aanders had looked forward to meeting the new guest at the resort, but when he finally did, all the kid did was tease him about living in a mortuary.

Aanders had learned to benefit from his unique surroundings. Not every kid lived in a mortuary. Not every kid was as brave as they pretended. Not every kid dared touch a dead body. For those brave enough to touch the lifeless flesh, Aanders charged a dollar. After all, hadn't his mother encouraged him to be enterprising?

A burst of sizzling grease signaled supper would soon be ready. Eleven-year-old Aanders watched his mother flip three pieces of chicken in the frying pan. He twiddled the salt shaker between his fingers until it tipped over. Sneaking a look at his mother he covered the salt with his hand, edged it off the counter and watched it sprinkle onto the floor. His blond bangs caught on his eyelashes, twitching when he blinked.

"I thought you'd feel better if I cooked your favorite meal,” Nan said, reaching to brush the hair from her son's face.

Aanders appreciated that his mother wanted to lessen his sorrow, but food didn't appeal to him. If he admitted he wasn't hungry, he'd hurt her feelings. She'd worry. She already had enough on her mind without upsetting her more.

His stomach rolled a queasy warning as his gaze fell on the basement door. A whining dog wasn't making the situation any easier. Belly had parked his bulk in front of the basement door and insisted on being given access to the lower level.

"I don't know why you let that dog in here again,” Nan said. “You know I've asked you not to do that."

"I didn't. He must have slipped in under the hearse door. I've seen him do it before."

Even though Belly's physique resembled a cement truck, he had a weasel's knack at sneaking into the mortuary apartment. The dog must have slipped in when he helped his mother transfer the heavy body bags from the hearse. Belly no longer startled Aanders when he appeared out of nowhere. At least not like his father startled him when he showed up uninvited. Belly's visits were welcomed. Not his father's.