Page 2
Kora is my closest friend in Cottondale, and last year, I planned an outrageous alien-themed birthday party for her, with half of Cottondale in attendance.
“Yes, Kora is my friend, so I planned––”
“I was there, and it was a great party. I obviously don’t want my funeral to be alien-themed, but I do want it to be out of this world. A fun-eral, if I may say so myself.”
She chuckles at her play on words and continues. “An early August evening sounds nice.”
At this point, I have no other option but to address the obvious elephant in the room. “I’m so sorry, but we cannot schedule a date for the funeral if the person is still with us. It depends on the time of passing, and although sometimes there are reasons that would suggest––”
“Oh, you misunderstand. I want to have the funeral while I’m still alive. I want to attend.”
Am I the one losing my marbles?
I stare at her, unsure if I heard her correctly. She wants to have her own funeral while she’s still alive? My brain is too foggy from spending all day in this silent, godforsaken, fluorescent room to come up with an answer. I desperately wish Tom was here. I don’t want to deal with this alone. Why did she have to come in on the one day he’s off? I’m the one who schedules meetings, not the one who holds them.
Silence fills the room, broken only by the antique clock ticking away, as we both wait for the other to speak.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
“Well?” She looks at me expectantly. “I’m not looking for a traditional funeral. I don’t care much about what happens when I am gone. I’m looking for someone to plan an end-of-life event, and since you work at a funeral home and seem to be good at throwing parties, you are the obvious choice. I want this to be the party of a lifetime.” Then she looks around the room again, her face scrunched up in distaste. “And I want a nice venue.”
“Since we’re not talking about a traditional funeral here, maybe an event planner would be a better choice?” I scratch my jaw. I don’t want to deny her wishes, but none of this falls under the scope of our typical funeral planning.
“No, I specifically want you. I’ll tell Tom I’ll pay extra to give you something on top of your salary.”
I wish I was on a salary.
Although her request sure seems odd, I know that Tom will accept her proposal. We do plan funerals, and if she wants to have it before her death, so be it. The burial or embalming could happen at a later date, when she actually passes.
The thought of this sweet yet eccentric woman in front of me dying causes a pang in my chest. I’m used to dealing with death, but to see the person in front of me, still alive and well, makes it harder to distance myself from that grief.
“Yes, Mrs. Williams. We can do that for you.”
“Wonderful,” she says, her face lighting up. “Now, I have places to be, but I will send my nephew by later this week to help with the necessary arrangements. I want this to be the biggest event this town has seen in years. That’s it for now. I have to go. I will see myself out. Goodbye.”
With surprising speed for a woman her age, she is already halfway to the door before I realize our conversation has abruptly ended.
I jump out of my chair, trying to catch up with her.
“Wait! Mrs. Williams, I’d still like to schedule an appointment for you to meet with Tom to go over––”
But she just winks as she leaves and closes the door in my face.
She is gone as quickly as she arrived, and I’m left alone once more with nothing but my thoughts and the haunting noise of that infuriating clock.
Ticktock. Ticktock.
Chapter 2
Robin
“Come on.”
I’m on my tiptoes, holding on to the fence with one hand, reaching for the enormous orange dangling above me with the other. I noticed it this morning when I parked my car outside the funeral home. The property next door has a gorgeous orange tree, its vibrant colorful fruit just begging to be picked. I’ve never seen anyone harvest any, so today I decided to take one for myself.
Just one. Maybe two. I’ve been resisting them for long enough.
Why can’t I have been born just two inches taller?
