by Morgana Best
I opened the door, and I was pretty sure my mother was going to faint. There was Pastor Green, dressed up like Elvis.
“Good morning,” he said, holding out a box of donuts. “I know you always have such good food, but I thought I could help out.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the box.
“You are a man of God!” my mother spluttered. “First KISS, now Elvis? What’s next?”
The pastor smiled and shrugged his shoulders, his white sequined jumpsuit glittering in the light. “Who knows? Perhaps the next funeral will be Aerosmith. I quite like them.”
My mother shook her head. Behind her, Ian came out of the dining room. If he was embarrassed by or for the pastor, he didn’t show it. He went into full butt kissing mode. “Oh Pastor Green,” he gushed, “how absolutely delightful and lovely to see you! I haven’t seen you for a whole day, at least. Can I get you some coffee? Or a delicious tuna fish sandwich?”
“No thank you, Ian,” the pastor said shortly. I think he grimaced, but I couldn’t be certain.
Behind us, three Elvises came out of the viewing area, and were headed for the dining room. They stopped when they saw Pastor Green.
“Looking good!” one man said. He was an older Elvis.
“But this is Pastor Green!” Ian said, his tone filled with shock.
The pastor ignored him and addressed the Elvis. “Thank you, but I must say, your costumes are masterful.”
“Hey, we don’t wear costumes,” another of the Elvises clarified. “We try to channel The King in everything we do.”
The pastor nodded. “He would be proud.”
“I have to say,” the third Elvis said, “if my pastor was as cool as you, I would still go to church.”
“Please, stop by mine sometime,” the pastor said, and behind me I heard my mother sigh deeply. The thought of people who spent their free time dressing up like Elvis going to her church was probably too much for her to bear.
The three Elvises went on to the dining room, and the pastor went to mingle, just as other guests were arriving.
As appalled as most of the family and friends had been at the KISS funeral, this one was the exact opposite. Everyone loved it, and the Elvis impersonators weren’t the only ones who had taken some fashion tips from the King of Rock and Roll. Pompadours, silky scarves, and the like were all on display.
I was in the kitchen brewing the fifth large pot of coffee when Ernie materialized.
“I have to say, these funerals are getting better and better,” the dead man said.
No one was there with us, so I could talk to him without looking like a lunatic. “This is pretty cool, huh?”
“I’m a little disappointed to see you aren’t dressed up,” he said.
I shook my head. “Not in a million years, Ernie.”
“So what’s next? Music themed funerals are getting stale, don’t you think?”
I laughed. “It’s only our second one.”
“I’m just trying to keep things fresh.”
“Do you think a dead guy is the one who should be trying to teach me how to keep things fresh?” I teased him.
“That’s not very nice,” Ernie said with mock disappointment. He was an easy going guy, under the gruff exterior. “Anyway, I’m going to follow that girl around. Did you see her? The one with the red scarf.”
“Ernie, she’s half your age. And she’s alive.”
Ernie shrugged. “Can’t win ‘em all, right? She’s a sight to be seen, though, that’s for sure.”
The ghost faded through the wall, and I smiled, shaking my head as I turned and finished with the coffee. I took the coffee to the dining room. My mother and Ian were sitting at the table, a plate of tuna sandwiches between them. The way my mother looked at anyone who neared her, I knew that if someone tried to grab one she would swat their hand away.
“Mom, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Someone has to eat these,” she said.
“How many have you had?” I asked, raising a brow. She was looking a little green.
“Too many,” my mom admitted. I looked at Ian. If my mother looked sick, he looked like he was going to be my next viewing.
“Ian, are you all right?” I asked.
He pressed his hand to his lips and shook his head, while waving his other hand at me.
“Don’t talk to poor Ian. He’s going to release,” Mom said.
“Releasing isn’t anything like knowing, is it?” I asked, unable to resist. “If he starts anything like that in here, I’ll have to call the cops.”
Ian struggled to his feet and hurried away in the direction of the restrooms.
“I don’t know why you have to be so vulgar,” my mother said, shaking her head. She took the tray of sandwiches and stormed off to the kitchen.
I sighed and went into the viewing room. It was less a viewing and more of a party.
Aaron came over to me. “This is great.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“Dad is loving it, from up there,” he said.
“I think so too.” I didn’t know what I thought about the afterlife, but I did know that Melvin wasn’t hanging around as a ghost. I wasn’t convinced anyone could see Earth from wherever they went. I thought that maybe the world of the dead and living were separated by more than just air.
“I have one request, though,” Aaron said.
“What is it?’ I asked.
“Can I light that cigarette Dad has? One last smoke before the end?”
I shook my head. I knew that after the staples had come at least a can and a half of hair spray. If there was flame anywhere near dearly departed Melvin, he would go up like dry tinder.
“I can’t have smoking in here,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Aaron shrugged. “It’s all right. It’s still a good time.”
I smiled and nodded. In the corner Ernie was dancing to Hound Dog with the woman with the red scarf, but of course she didn’t know. I had to do everything in my power not to roll my eyes. I left Aaron and headed back for the dining room, intending to gather up the discarded plates. I saw my mother and Ian heading out the front door.
“Where are you going?” I asked my mother.
“Ian and I are going to pray for these heathens,” my mother said. “We’re going to pray that they stop liking Elvis.”
“What about Pastor Green?” I said. “He likes Elvis. Surely you aren’t going to pray against your pastor’s wishes?’
Ian’s hand flew to his mouth and he gasped. My mother shot me a stony glare, and then grabbed Ian by the arm and pulled him down the stairs.
Chapter 21
Mrs. Anise showed me into Basil’s office, after asking me my name three times in a row. The appointment was so that Basil could give me the projected figures for the coming year. Again, as soon as I was through the door, I smelled the strange smell that I now knew to be white sage. It felt old somehow. It reminded me of Grimms’ Fairy Tales, or of storybook tales of witches.
Basil was sitting behind his desk, and he gestured to the seat in front of me. “Have a seat, Laurel.” His voice was not unfriendly, but it was not warm.
Was I missing something? He had been happy and casual the other day at the café, apart from just before he left. I supposed this was his on-duty persona, although something told me there was more to it.
As he handed me a file, my arm brushed something on his desk. It was a silver framed photo of two sheep. I was so shocked that someone would frame a photo of sheep that I said without thinking, “Most people have family pictures on their desks.” I kicked myself mentally. What a stupid thing to say! “I’m sorry, Basil,” I said. “I shouldn’t have commented.”
Basil narrowed his eyes, and at once the room seemed to still. The feeling was almost tangible. “Unfortunately, I can’t have a relationship,” he said, picking up the photo frame and looking at it. “I don’t intend to get married at this stage. Marriage and family are not in my plans.” When he
finished, he looked straight at me.
I squirmed in my seat. What on earth did he mean? Could he tell I was attracted to him and so had directed those pointed comments at me? My cheeks burned.
And why couldn’t he have a relationship? All these thoughts and more swirled around in my head, and at the same time, I tried to push down my disappointment. Truth be told, I had thought there was a good chance that the hot accountant would ask me on a date sooner or later, but now my hopes were cruelly dashed. I tried to keep a neutral expression on my face, although I felt devastated. There was just something about the man that drew me to him.
Basil, thankfully, was not looking at me. He was looking fondly at the framed photo. “Do you have pets, Laurel?”
I shook my head. “I lived in an apartment in the center of Melbourne, and pets weren’t allowed. When I was growing up, I always begged my parents for a pet, but Mom wouldn’t have any because they mess up the house.” I tensed up as the memories flooded back to me. “I always wanted piano lessons, too, but Mom said a piano would ruin the décor. You know, I need to move out of Mom’s house. I could renovate the apartment over the funeral home, but I couldn’t have pets there.” I caught myself, realizing I had rabbited on at length, which I tend to do when I’m embarrassed. I bit a fingernail and looked at Basil.
“So what sort of pets would you like?” he asked.
“Dogs and cats,” I gushed. “I would love a cat and a dog, but it’s just not possible. Even if I did fix up that apartment above the funeral home and live in it, then I wouldn’t be able to have pets due to health regulations.”
“You could have a sheep,” he said, his face lighting up. “Or rather, two sheep, because they need company.”
I raised my eyebrows. Had he taken leave of his senses? Too much math can’t be good for anyone. “Sheep?” I said in disbelief. “Sheep as pets?”
Basil frowned. “Why not? It’s only a construct of our society that people have cats and dogs as pets, and eat sheep. Sheep are just as clever as dogs and cats, despite what people tell you. They have individual personalities.”
I thought it over for a moment. “That makes sense,” I said slowly. “I’ve just never thought about it before.” Basil was full of surprises. I never imagined that an accountant would keep citrine in his wallet or have sheep as pets.
Basil nodded. “You have that big paddock right next to the funeral home. Is that on your land or your mother’s?”
I thought for a moment. “The paddock comes with the funeral home, so that was left to me in Dad’s will. Mom owns the house on the small plot of land adjacent to it.”
“And how do you keep the grass in that paddock down?”
“I have to pay someone to mow it, and he charges an arm and a leg, ‘cause it’s such a big area.”
Basil rubbed his chin. “Is it five acres?”
I nodded, impressed. “Yes. How did you know?”
He shrugged. “Looks about right. And it’s divided into two paddocks, isn’t it?”
I nodded again. “Yes, but I don’t know about having sheep as pets. I’ve never thought about it before. Aren’t they hard to look after? And what about shearing, and all that?”
“It’s easy enough to find shearers who’ll come out to shear pet sheep,” Basil said, “and as for looking after them, once you know what’s required, it’s easy enough. Besides, my two sheep are Dorpers. That means they don’t need to be shorn, because their wool falls out.”
“Fascinating,” I lied. I had heard more about sheep than I had ever wanted to hear. “Why don’t you put your sheep in my paddock? I won’t have to pay for it to be mown, then.” It was an off-hand remark, which I said without thinking. I really had to learn to think before I spoke.
Basil looked torn. In fact, he looked as if I had put him in a terrible and earth-shattering dilemma. I just wanted to leave his office as fast as I could. Clearly he didn’t want to be around me in anything other than an accountant-client capacity, but the thought of yummy grass for his sheep was too much to pass up. Why hadn’t I kept my big mouth shut?
After what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke. “Thank you, Laurel,” he said slowly, looking down at his desk while he shuffled papers around. “It’s a good idea. I’ll come over and check it out to see if it’s safe. Once you get to know my sheep, perhaps you will want two sheep of your own. I’ll pay you for boarding Arthur and Martha, of course.”
I was doing my best not to burst out laughing at the sheep’s names, so it was a while before I could trust myself to speak. “No, Basil, I won’t hear of it. You’ll be doing me a favor because I won’t have to pay for it to be mown.” And I’ll get to see you more often, I added silently, but I didn’t know whether that was a blessing or a curse.
As I left Basil’s office, I turned on my phone. There were five missed calls from John Jones. I called him back, and he answered at once. “John, how did you get my number?”
“Your mother gave it to me. Laurel, I’d like to ask you out on a date.”
“John, I don’t mean to be rude,” I snapped, “but this is an unlisted number. This is my private phone and I do not appreciate you calling me. I will not go on a date with you.” I hung up.
By the time I got to my car, John Jones had called me three times. I hopped into the driver’s seat and then blocked his number. I called my mother.
“What’s the problem, Laurel?” she said. “John asked for your number. I couldn’t lie, could I?”
I gritted my teeth. “Mom, we’ve been through this before. You can’t give out my unlisted number to anyone.”
“I can’t lie, Laurel. You can’t ask me to lie.”
I groaned loudly. “Mom, I’m not asking you to lie. If someone asks for my number, just say this: ‘It’s an unlisted number and Laurel asked me not to give it out.’”
“Laurel, I don’t know what your problem is, but I’ve already told you that I will not lie!” she yelled.
“But that’s not a lie,” I said, doing my very best to remain calm. “It’s the truth.”
“If you’re not going to talk sense, I’ll hang up.” She did just that.
Chapter 22
I woke up early, as I always did on funeral days. I was at the funeral home two hours before the viewing started. Surprisingly, my mother had beaten me there. Also surprising was the fact that she wasn’t alone. I pushed open the unlocked front door, and was at once face to face with an unsightly tangle of metal bars. Two men in white overalls were assembling the bars into something that might someday resemble scaffolding.
“Morning,” one of the men said to me, putting a finger to the bill of his painter’s cap.
I sighed and nodded to the man as I shut the door and walked past him and his friend. I consoled myself with the thought that at least they weren’t Ian.
I found my mother in my office. The fact that it had never been her office didn’t keep her from rushing in there and sitting behind the desk at every opportunity.
She was in a nice pantsuit and with her hair curled and piled upon her head. I supposed that meant she had not forgotten there was a wake today. A woman had died in her sleep a couple of days ago, and her husband had come to me in a horrible state. Some people knew exactly what they wanted for funerals, the type of flowers they wanted, the casket, and all of that. And some people, like the man with whom I had spoken two days ago, just wanted me to take care of everything. So I had.
“You’re up early,” I said as I leaned on the doorway.
“We have work to do today,” my mother said. She was staring at the computer. I had no idea why.
“I know. I was wondering if you had forgotten,” I said.
“Of course I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t forgotten the schedule here in over thirty years, since your father opened the place. And thank goodness for today. Finally! A normal service, just a body and the people who loved that body, seeing it off.”
I frowned. “That’s a little morbid for you, Mom.”
I came to the point. “Mom, there are painters out there.”
“I know that, Laurel,” she said in a frosty tone. “Do you think I’m stupid? Your father and you always thought I was stupid. How could you be so hurtful? Let me tell you, I’m not stupid, Laurel! Of course, I know there are painters out there.”
I shook my head. “Mom, they’re out there putting their metal pipes together.”
“I told some men from the church that we needed new paint, and they said they’d do it for a bargain price.” She looked so pleased with herself.
I sighed. “Mom!” I said, trying not to scream or have some sort of yelling episode. “We don’t need new paint. I told you that when you brought it up a week ago. And even if we did, we certainly wouldn’t have them do it before a service begins. The paint will still be wet.”
Mom shrugged. “Laurel, you could appreciate me for once. Why don’t you appreciate all the hard work I do for this business? You always were an ungrateful child.”
I continued to take deep breaths. “You shouldn’t have hired them. We don’t have the money. I told you this before, and even if we did have the money, we couldn’t have painters here while there’s a service. Tell them to go, or I will, before they put a spot of paint on the walls.”
My mother shook her head, and looked furious. “What an awful thing to say,” she said, placing a hand over her chest. “I won’t send Jerry and Bill away! You’ll have to do it,” she screeched.
“Fine,” I said. I spun around and headed back to the entrance hall. The taller one had long swipes of eggshell white spread across the original wall, which had just been good old white.
“Oh no,” I wailed.
He turned to me. “You don’t like it? Your mother said you picked it out.”
“No, it’s fine,” I said grumpily. They had already started. I couldn’t have them stop now. “Can you please hurry?”
