As Bright as Heaven(14)

I swing around, pretending she didn’t startle me. “It’s empty,” I reply. “There’s nobody in here.”

“You’re in here. And you know you’re not supposed to be.”

I’m about to tell her to mind her own business, but then I think she might be as curious as I am to know what Uncle Fred does with the bodies. “I want to see what’s in this room,” I say. “We live here now. It’s our home. Shouldn’t we at least know what Papa will be doing?”

“You already know what Papa will be doing. He told us.”

Now, what Papa told us when he sat us all down was that Uncle Fred helps folks say good-bye to people who have died by making their bodies look nice for one last visit. Papa is doing that now, too. That had been an answer for Willa, not for Evie and me. I reminded Evie of that.

“What does it matter what Papa will actually have to do? We’re not supposed to be in here,” she says.

“Don’t you want to know what all this stuff is for?” I shoot back.

But Evie has that look on her face that tells me she already does know. Somehow she’s figured it out or she’s gotten a book at the library and read up on whatever embalming is. Or maybe she’s cornered Papa and asked him when Willa and I weren’t around, and because she’s fifteen and I’m only twelve, she was able to convince him she’s old enough to know.

I suddenly don’t care if she runs back and tells every adult in the place that I am snooping in the embalming room. Maybe I’ll get a few answers if Papa and Uncle Fred come barreling down the hallway to make sure I’m not breaking something important or setting the room on fire. I take another step. Evie sucks in her breath behind me.

“What’s that for?” I point to the gleaming tank with the thin, rosy-colored hose coming out of it.

When Evie doesn’t answer, I turn around to face her. She is staring at the tank.

“What’s inside it?” I ask, and I know she knows the answer. She just doesn’t want to tell me. I accuse her of not knowing.

Evie just shakes her head like I’m an idiot for not knowing myself. Or for wanting to know.

“Do I have to go tell them you’re in here?” she finally says, in the you’re-going-to-get-in-trouble way that big sisters are famous for. Except with Evie, she doesn’t want you to get in trouble; she just knows you will.

“Go ahead,” I say, more interested in getting answers than obeying all the rules.

She stands there a few seconds, no doubt contemplating what I’ll do when she leaves to go tattle on me. I might stroll over to that cupboard and look inside the tins and drawers and learn things even she doesn’t know.

But then Evie opens her mouth and says one word. I can’t tell if she’s gloating or not when she says it. I don’t think she is.

“Formalin,” she says, calmly. Quietly. Like we are in church. “That’s what’s in that tank.”

The word means nothing to me. She could’ve made it up for all I know.

“What’s that supposed to be?” I say.

She shakes her head like I’m a child. Like I’m Willa.

“Tell me what it is,” I repeat, and when she says nothing, I point to the other tank, the darker one on the other side of the table. “And I suppose you know what’s inside that one?”

Evie turns on her heel. “All right. That’s it, then.” Off she goes.

If I follow her, begging her not to tell, she probably won’t. But I don’t. My heart starts to pound inside me, but I take several more steps forward anyway. I don’t care that Papa might send me to my room for the rest of the day. Or that he might even strap me, though I don’t think he will. Since Henry died, Papa hasn’t threatened a strapping to anyone, not even Willa, and sometimes she sure needs one.

I want to know what takes place in this room, and I’m not leaving until I find out. It’s not until I hear footsteps coming down the hall that it occurs to me Uncle Fred might be so angry with me that I won’t be allowed to go with Jamie and Charlie to Hog Island after church tomorrow. Or worse, he’ll tell Papa he’s changed his mind and we’ll have to go back to Quakertown, where we’ll all be rolling cigars for the rest of our lives.

My throat feels tight and my face is warm from shame and dread as I turn toward the doorway and those footsteps. But it’s not Papa and Uncle Fred both. It’s just Papa. I wonder if Evie told all three of the adults where I was and it was Papa who’d said, “Let me talk to her.”

“Evie said you were in here.” Papa’s voice is soft and hard at the same time, like it’s wrong that I disobeyed but there are worse things I could’ve done. Still, it’s a strange thing to say. He hasn’t demanded to know why I am in the embalming room; he’s just stated that I am, which is already as plain as day.

“I want to know what all this stuff is for.” My voice cracks a little, the way it does when you’re about to cry but haven’t started yet.

He steps into the room to meet me fully in the middle of it and looks around. “I did, too,” he says. And for a second it’s like we are the same age. “I stood in here and looked at all these things, and I wondered same as you what everything was for. And I’ll tell you if you want me to.”