“To the lost,” they repeat before guzzling.

Marina appears moved by their drunken display. Her lips press together in an approving smile.

Then, she turns to me, her fingers lightly grazing my forearm. “I’m going to look around, okay?”

“Sure.”

She drifts away, seeming to examine everything from the floor to the ceiling, and I want to warn her not to look too closely, but what does it matter?

Cockroaches, cigarettes, idiots, and porn? There’s no way she’ll go for this.

Not that I want her to—she deserves better.

I meet Marina at the short dock overlooking the swamp a half-hour later. She stands there, gazing at the scenery. I imagine she’s upset. I would be. This isn’t a career option. It’s an insult. A death sentence. A cruel joke. Another funeral home.

The boards creak under me when I move beside her. The stagnant water swirls with green algae and lily pads. A lone car goes over the short bridge to our left, startling a long-legged heron into flight. Deeper into the swamp, the majestic, thick-bottomed bald cypress trees dripping with Spanish moss form an eerie tunnel. The dying sun reflects the trees onto the water’s surface, doubling their mystery and beauty. Croaking frogs begin a nighttime chorus, and a hawk makes a forceful dive onto the weedy grasslands. Like the woman standing beside me, it’s beautiful in the strangest way.

I’d forgotten how much I once loved it here.

My arms fold as I struggle to put together an apology.

She turns to me, eyes and smile wider than seems possible. “I’ll do it.”

“Seriously? You don’t have to. You shouldn’t. It’s a mess. I never should’ve brought you here. We’ll think of something else.”

“We don’t have to think of anything else. But since you took the initiative of finding me something I’d enjoy, I want to do it.”

“Why?” I ask, breathless and confused. “You’re so much better than this place.”

Her bare shoulder bounces in a one-sided shrug. “There’s potential here, and I love a good challenge. Lost causes and second chances are two of my many specialties. You’ll see.”

Her warm smile carries her optimism over to me. “I don’t doubt it. If you’re sure.”

“I am, but I need you to promise me something.” Her delicate hands fall on my folded forearms like she wants me to pay attention. “This pity train you’re on stops here. I know you facilitated this job offer more than you let on. That man does not want a manager, does he?”

“He… warmed up to the idea.”