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“That sounds good.”
She smiled as she handed Talulah the paper she’d taken out of her purse. “This is the sign-up sheet I circulated during services today, asking for volunteers to contribute to the meal.”
Talulah gazed at the names of the various people who’d answered that call. A few of them she recognized as friends of her parents’ or people she’d known from childhood. Five of eight slots had been taken for “Potatoes,” six of eight for “Green Salad,” five of five for “Dinner Rolls,” only three of eight for “Gelatin Fruit Salad” and eight out of eight for “Brownies.”
“I’m going to make a double batch of potatoes myself,” Mrs. Carrier said. “That should give us enough. And the church will provide the ham.”
“What a great menu,” Talulah said. “It’s nice of everyone to contribute.”
“Many hands make light work,” she chirped.
Talulah glanced down the list again. Aunt Phoebe would have the standard church funeral, which she probably would’ve liked. That so many people were willing to share the work and expense was deeply touching. But it also made Talulah feel a greater responsibility to her own flesh and blood. She could do more for her great aunt herself. There wasn’t any reason to lean on these people where she didn’t have to.
“I’ll email everyone the recipe for each item so that the meal’s consistent,” Mrs. Carrier informed her.
Talulah folded the paper and handed it back to her. “This isverygracious. But could you email to tell them they won’t have to bring anything this time?”
“Excuse me?”
“I could use your help with getting the speakers and arranging any musical numbers for the service, plus setting up the tables and chairs for dinner. But while it was so kind of you to gather volunteers, I’ll handle the meal myself.”
She blinked several times. “The whole meal?”
“I’ve been to culinary school and can do it if I start tomorrow. Will I be able to use the kitchen at the church Thursday morning?”
“Of course. I can let you in as early as you’d like.”
“That’s fantastic.”
“You’re signing up for a lot of work...”
She was obviously giving Talulah the chance to change her mind. But Talulah was set on making the best meal Coyote Canyon had ever tasted. She wanted to do it for her late mother’s aunt, to prove to Phoebe that she was no slouch, even though Phoebe had always preferred her church family. And, she supposed, she was also hoping to show Charlie and those who hated her for what she’d done fourteen years ago that she’d made good. So many had believed that breaking off the engagement and leaving Coyote Canyon meant her judgment was lacking and she’d never amount to anything.
“Would you like to speak at the funeral?” Mrs. Carrier asked.
Talulah opened her mouth to say no. She didn’t want to speak, especially in front of people who would be eager to criticize her. The meal was enough of a statement, she told herself. At least she knew she could do that well.
But then she glanced down at the compass tattooed on her arm and remembered what it stood for. She would follow her own conscience regardless of the pressure of “group think,” and she wouldn’t allow anyone to intimidate her or make her feel “less than.” She’d come too far from the self-doubt she’d experienced when she first left her hometown.
“I’ll speak,” she said. “Since I’m the only representative of the family, I feel it’s my duty to say a few words.”
Mrs. Carrier beamed at her. “Your aunt would be so proud.”
Talulah wasn’t convinced of that. Aunt Phoebe had always believed her way was the only way and Talulah’s life philosophy was wrong just because it was different from hers.
But Talulah hoped she’d be able to contribute something meaningful.
After Charlie’s sister Averil went through a divorce four years ago, she’d brought her son, Mitch, back to Coyote Canyon, and this summer Brant had been giving the boy horseback riding lessons. Averil was working paycheck to paycheck at the bank and living with her parents again, and Mitch didn’t have a lot of interaction with his father, who’d moved to California. So, along with Charlie, Brant was trying to help her out and be a good role model for her son.
Charlie was usually the one who brought Mitch to the ranch on Sunday evenings. But after what’d happened this morning, Brant hadn’t expected to see either of them today. He was surprised when Averil’s old Nissan Altima came trundling down the long gravel drive to his house.
He dropped the sledgehammer he’d been using in an attempt to straighten out his bumper as she noticed him by the detached garage and pulled up next to him.
“Hey,” she said as she got out, but there was no smile in the greeting. He could tell by her subdued voice that Charlie had told her about Talulah.
“Hey.” He bent slightly, trying to peer into the back seat. “You bring Mitch?”
She tucked her thick dark hair behind her ears. “Not tonight. I thought you might not be in the mood to deal with riding lessons.”
