Mr. Ludwig stepped back and, satisfied that the ligature was secure, turned the dials and knobs that started the formaldehyde and other chemicals. I wandered to the counter, flipping through the lady’s funeral program. Standard-issue stuff: pictures of her with her husband on a cruise ship, surrounded by her kids at a barbecue, an old posed family portrait. The quote was by Emily Dickinson: “Unable are the loved to die. For love is immortality.” I liked that one.
“She wasn’t religious?” I asked Mr. Ludwig. They usually used biblical quotes.
He shrugged. “The burial’s at St. Matthew’s.”
Catholic. But maybe not very devout. “I was doing some reading this weekend,” I told him, ignoring the stealthy hum of the machine. “I never realized how many people believe in reincarnation instead of heaven and hell.” Almost a quarter of the world population, according to Ryan’s books.
He gave a quick nod. “Of course. Nearly all of India, Japan, China—the Eastern religions—believe the soul returns in some form, bettering itself until it’s reached enlightenment.”
I’d thought about Jackson Kennit during my reading, of course. Had I sent him to be reanimated in a new body? Or was he burning in hell because I hadn’t warned him to confess? Which was the truth? What had he believed? And what did it mean if his beliefs were the wrong ones, and reality was different from what he’d built his faith on?
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” I asked Mr. Ludwig.
“It’s what I was taught.” He twirled the scalpel gently between his fingers, waiting for this first stage of the embalming to finish. “It’s what my mother believes.”
“But do you?”
Mr. Ludwig pursed his already-thin lips, the barest of lines across his face while he thought. “Truthfully, I’m not sure what I believe, Cassie,” he said finally. “Death is the simplest act shrouded by the greatest mystery. Any of the scenarios seem equally likely and unlikely to me. It’s like asking about the chicken and the egg. The question is unanswerable because its truth can’t be tested.”
“Deep,” I said, smiling faintly.
Mr. Ludwig glanced up and smiled too, his face merry again. “It is, isn’t it? But that’s the essence of religion: faith. Believing in something that cannot be confirmed.” He walked around the table, massaging the woman’s arm to break up a blockage.
My eyes traveled to her face, wrinkled, without color or definition, beyond gender or emotion. Was she watching us from heaven? Starting life anew in a different body? Or was this all there was?
“What do you believe?” Mr. Ludwig asked, as if reading my thoughts.
Nan and I never really talked about religion when I was growing up, almost purposely avoiding it, it seemed now, though I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I had vague ideas of heaven and hell, but nothing that could really be called a belief. Certainly nothing I’d stake my life—or someone else’s—on.
“I guess I believe we should do the best we can with our time here since there’s no way to know what happens next,” I said finally.
Mr. Ludwig paused, the barest trace of a smile still on his face. “Yes.” He nodded slowly. “Just so.”
I ran into Ryan as I was leaving the prep room. Literally. He was charging down the short hallway, a cardboard box in front of his face, and I smacked right into him.
“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing his elbow and stooping to pick up the packages of gloves, face masks, and other stuff that had toppled out of the box.
“Sorry,” I said, bending down to help. “I didn’t see you.”
“Yeah. Got that,” he answered, looking not at all amused.
We tossed the packages back into the box in silence. I watched Ryan, my head still bent. He wasn’t hot like Zander, but definitely cute and interesting. Engaging rather than enticing. I liked him, though I couldn’t decide how much. “I’ve been reading the books you left me,” I said.
“Oh yeah?” He glanced up and I caught a quick half smile before he reached for a roll of cotton.
“Interesting stuff.”
“Like what?” Ryan sat back on his heels, crossing his arms as if daring me to come up with something. Like a teacher giving a pop quiz.
“Well … like how the Baha’i of Iran bury their dead within an hour’s travel of the spot where they died. And how Jehovah’s Witnesses believe only 144,000 of them can go to heaven. I mean, what a raw deal for virtuous soul number 144,001, right?”
He laughed.
I continued. “And the Tibetan Buddhist monks do some pretty strange stuff to their dead that is, uh … very different from what we do here.”
Ryan was grinning, his eyes—the gray-blue of rain clouds—amused. “That’s what you took away from it, huh?”
“Well,” I said, “not only that.” I’d just thought the weird stuff might impress him more. I told him the things Mr. Ludwig and I had talked about.
“What religion are you?” I asked as we walked down the hall toward the supply room, items now stacked haphazardly back in his box.
“Protestant. But I’ve studied lots of them,” he added. “Gone to different churches. Testing them out, you know?”
“Yeah,” I said slowly, “I do.” It was an idea I’d been toying with for a while. “Listen,” I said impulsively, not certain I wanted him along, but knowing if I had a partner and was committed to a day and time, I’d really go. “I’ve actually been thinking I’d like to do that. Would you want to, you know, come with me?”
Ryan shrugged like it was nothing, but I could tell he was pleased. “Sure. What’d you have in mind?”
“Well, I was thinking of starting with my church, my people’s that is. Greek Orthodox. Maybe this Sunday?”
He nodded. “We’ll have to come here straight after.”
“I know. The Rubin burial.”
“Right.”
We stood there awkwardly, then spoke at the same time.
“So, I’ll meet you …,” I said, while Ryan said, “Should I pick you …?”
We stopped and I hoped this wouldn’t be a mistake. I worried that he might be too eager, that he might like me and think I liked him too—which I did, but maybe not in that way.
But I’d already asked him to go.
“How about we meet here?” I suggested, all business. “Then we can leave our work stuff in the lockers.”