“Memento mori,” Mom says without looking up.
“I saw it in Post Mortem Mary.”
Mom points to something in the book. “Postpartum Mary,” she says, and I don’t tell her that postmortem and postpartum are two totally different things.
I sit next to Mom and look at the photo she finds so fascinating. It’s a daguerreotype of five siblings standing in a row, like stair steps. The two girls have ringlets and big bows in their hair and the boys are in suits. No one’s smiling, but that’s typical of Victorian photos.
“This is the dead one,” Mom says, and points to the boy who’s fourth in the row.
“What?” On closer inspection, I see that the boy’s eyes are closed, and his head tilts a bit to one side. The littler girl on the end looks a little freaked out, and I don’t blame her.
“That’s morbid.”
Mom flips the page. “This one’s dead,” she says, and points to the bride in a Victorian wedding photo. Her eyes are closed, and she’s resting her head on the groom’s shoulder like she’s drunk or tired and passed out while standing up. Once you look at it enough, the dead ones are easy to spot.
“This is disturbing.” I close the book.
“These are kin.” Mom flips the pages back open. “Look at this.”
“I’d rather not.”
“It was taken right over there.” Lindsey points to the fireplace across the room.
Despite my aversion, I glance at the photo of a white casket draped in flowers. The photograph was taken from just far enough away to capture the silhouette of a woman in white lace. I’m horrified, and I wonder how many people in the creepy book wander the halls and slam doors at night.
“I want a white coffin like this one,” Mom announces.
“We don’t have to worry about that for a long time.”
“With gold handles.”
I can’t take any more and leave the room to get Raphael a seed stick and some dried fruit cocktail. When I return, she’s still at it, but now she’s fixated on people in caskets and determined to talk about it, no matter how many different ways Lindsey and I try to change the subject. Even when I mention her boyfriends and remind her that Simon and his men will be back to work on the banister.
“A white one with gold handles and a blue pillow to match my eyes.”
I carefully pull my hand from Raphael’s cage. “Your eyes won’t be open, Mom.”
“I want to wear blue.”
Raphael yawns like he can hardly keep awake. “Do we have to talk about this now?”
“Earl says I look good in blue.”
“Earl won’t be here.”
“Earl loves me. He gave me a Christmas card with a cactus on it.”
Yeah, I remember. “Earl lives in Seattle.” I shut the cage even though I know he’s an escape artist.
She points to Lindsey. “Look on the Google net.”
“For what, Patricia?”
“One of those places.” I can feel her anxiety building as she can’t remember the word she wants to use. “The casket places.”
“Funeral homes.” Lindsey and I look at each other as she reluctantly pulls out her phone.
“We have a long time before we have to think about that,” I tell her again.