Alone Together

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

In Tristan’s professional opinion, grief was a strange creature. It could consume or compel; drive or destroy. Out of grief, monuments had been built. The Taj Mahal was a giant tomb. Out of grief, lives had been taken. There were countless suicides committed each year in grieved anguish. Tristan firmly believed that if Gwen hadn’t lost her baby daughter, she never would have fostered Leopold.

He wondered what shape grief took for this young woman.

He wondered why he cared. Saying, “It’s my job” didn’t explain away the curiosity. This young woman wasn’t his job, wasn’t his responsibility. He had responsibilities back at the funeral home. A consultation later today – two, actually – and any walk-ins. And of course the services he had to perform between now and closing time.

“I know you’re right,” the woman said. They were talking about her grief and her father. “But, my father is… different. He loves me dearly. I think it makes him nervous to watch me fall apart.”

“It’s never easy to see someone you love in pain,” Tristan agreed. Then, inspiration struck him. He reached into his suit and pulled a business card out. It read “Vidal Funeral Services” in fancy script and had his name and phone number listed at the bottom. He studied it for a moment, debating action, but decided to hand it to the woman. He was on call 24/7 as it was. “If you need an ear, give me a call.”

[Stella Witherspoon]

OOC: Outfit

Estella Witherspoon*

Stella nodded thoughtfully at his words resonated in her mind. “It’s never easy to see someone you love in pain.” That was the truest statement she had ever heard. Probably the most simple truth too. It hurt to be in pain, but you got over it eventually. It hurts more to watch someone you love dearly in pain, because you can never completely wipe away the look on their face as they cry, or scream. She remembered when her father found her snorting heroine. It killed him. The look on his face is still embedded in her mind sometimes. He was hurt, devastated even. His “little girl” was a druggie. She always thought he threw her out of the house because he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She learned later that it was just the sight of her turning out poorly he couldn’t take.

The young woman came back to earth as the funeral director handed her a card. “If you need an ear, give me a call.” She took the card, slowly. She was always cautious of strangers. Or at least, she had been until this man came along. The card read with the name of the funeral home and his name and phone number. “Tristian.” She said quietly. She had always liked that name. That and Adam. When she and Tyler spoke of kids, those were her two favorites. It made her stifle a small laugh as she looked back up at the tall man before her. “I will, thanks.” Her heart was a little lighter knowing she had someone who would listen. But, she probably never would call.

[The Exodus]

Tristan Vidal

Tristan wasn’t on a mission to fix people. He was a grief counselor, an embalmer, an undertaker… Not a miracle worker. But there was no harm in offering an ear, a business card, and putting the ball in the young woman’s court. It dawned on him he didn’t even know her name. And now she had his name, his phone number, and the address of the place he worked.

“Tristan,” she said softly, studying the business card. She laughed abruptly, just a little. Fleetingly, Tristan wondered if she realized the cosmic pun of his name and his business. Vidal. Life-giving. He was anything but. “I will, thanks.”

“The second number routes to my cellphone,” Tristan told her.

The first connected to the office and might be intercepted by the interns. Yesterday, Gaston had intercepted a personal call from Torben and tried to talk him into buying a mahogany casket and into setting up a consultation next Friday. Mathis said something about personal calls through the business line being “unprofessional” in his weirdly unaffected voice that may or may not have been judgmental. And Chelsea’s French was so bad that she’d accidentally called them “Vidal Cheese Shop and Crematorium” last week. In fact, the only one he trusted wholly at his office was Solange.

Especially when it came to something as delicate as this.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he said. “So I know who expect a call from.”

[Stella Witherspoon]

OOC:Outfit

Estella Witherspoon*

Stella nodded thoughtfully as he explained that the second number routed to his cell phone. “I appreciate this, Tristian. A lot of people are weird about grief and death.” And that was true. Her friends mourned Tyler with her, but not in the way she mourned him. The fact that a stranger was going to give out his personal information to her touched her frozen heart a bit. No one really seemed to do that kind of thing anymore.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Tristian told her “So I know who to expect a call from.” Stella made an embarrassed face and frowned. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “I’m Estella. But, please, call me Stella.” She offered Tristian a small, tight smile before glancing at her watch. “Um, I really should get going. I promised my dad I would be home before lunch.” With that, Stella started to walk away, stopping once to look back over her shoulder at the man who had comforted her more than anyone else ever had. And he was still a total stranger.