control. Have her call me if she wants anything for herself or the kids. I can prescribe her a sedative, and maybe I’ll check on the kids.”
Avery turned to Scott, ducked his head, and sort of blushed. “Can you autograph something for me?”
“Sure.”
Avery left. Scott stayed to help with the crowd, and I went back to the office.
TWENTY-TWO
Wednesday 4:25 P.M.
I was there about twenty minutes when the office door crashed open. Veronica grabbed the rebound and slammed it shut. She leaned against it, shut her eyes, and breathed deeply. Her voice started as a whisper and rose to near a shriek, “I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate every bone in their bodies. I hate the air they breathe.”
I hastened to the door and took her hand. I opened the door quickly and looked up and down the hall. If anyone had heard, they weren’t putting in an appearance.
I helped her to a seat then asked, “What’s wrong? Did the Grums do something?”
She shuddered, drew deep breaths. Finally calm enough, she said, “If those people pray at me one more time, I swear.” She got up and paced the length of the room, slapped at the grizzly, and turned to face me. “We walked into the funeral home, and right in the entryway, the first thing they wanted us to do is pray. When the funeral director met us, we had to say a prayer with him.”
She sat and rubbed her hands across her face for a moment then looked at me. “I’ve never gone to a funeral home to make arrangements for a funeral. I’ve never even thought about it. It was a good thing mom and dad were there.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “When we arrived, the dragon lady was already there. After praying, she began to decree and declare what was going to happen for the funeral. It was awful.” Her voice began to rise. “And Edgar’s father. He was with his odious wife. He told me I didn’t have a choice. I had to have the funeral their way.”
I held her close. I never understood this whole shtick about “my-funeral-is-better-than-your-funeral.” And is somebody taking attendance at funerals? The stupidest question I’ve ever heard is, “How would you like it if no one came to your funeral?” Well, I suppose I wouldn’t care much. I’d be dead. And so the living are supposed to count up the mourners? Whoever has the most mourners, wins? Wins what?
“What did they want?” I asked.
“They wanted this god awful extravaganza. They wanted a Christian rock band. They wanted singing groups. They wanted praise Jesus songs mixed with eulogies by every relative they have.”
I asked, “I know eulogies, but how does this praise Jesus stuff work?”
She said, “The preacher gives a combination sermon eulogy then someone sings a song. Next somebody gets up and does another eulogy. Then another song. I don’t want to hear all that shit.”
“How long does this song/eulogy extravaganza last?”
“Hours.”
“Really?”
“Really. I went to one of Edgar’s uncle’s funerals. In this gargantuan mega-church they had huge screens, stadium size screens, immense flat screen things, hooked up to computers. They showed pictures, every picture in his life, huge twenty-foot pictures of a dead person, rotating from screen to screen, interrupted by songs from groups, some live on stage, some taped, but all shown on those damn screens. They sang endlessly.”
“Funeral dirges?”
“No, praise songs to god.”
“Huh?”
“As in, every other word was praise and all the other words were Jesus.”
“That’s it?”
“There might have been other stuff. It was numbing after about ten seconds. It was awful. Maybe it comforted the afflicted. Maybe it pleased the Dragon Lady and the Dictator.” Her body twitched and shuddered. “Thankfully mom and dad were there today.”
“What did they do?”
“Dad looked at the old bitch and her
Avery turned to Scott, ducked his head, and sort of blushed. “Can you autograph something for me?”
“Sure.”
Avery left. Scott stayed to help with the crowd, and I went back to the office.
TWENTY-TWO
Wednesday 4:25 P.M.
I was there about twenty minutes when the office door crashed open. Veronica grabbed the rebound and slammed it shut. She leaned against it, shut her eyes, and breathed deeply. Her voice started as a whisper and rose to near a shriek, “I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate every bone in their bodies. I hate the air they breathe.”
I hastened to the door and took her hand. I opened the door quickly and looked up and down the hall. If anyone had heard, they weren’t putting in an appearance.
I helped her to a seat then asked, “What’s wrong? Did the Grums do something?”
She shuddered, drew deep breaths. Finally calm enough, she said, “If those people pray at me one more time, I swear.” She got up and paced the length of the room, slapped at the grizzly, and turned to face me. “We walked into the funeral home, and right in the entryway, the first thing they wanted us to do is pray. When the funeral director met us, we had to say a prayer with him.”
She sat and rubbed her hands across her face for a moment then looked at me. “I’ve never gone to a funeral home to make arrangements for a funeral. I’ve never even thought about it. It was a good thing mom and dad were there.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “When we arrived, the dragon lady was already there. After praying, she began to decree and declare what was going to happen for the funeral. It was awful.” Her voice began to rise. “And Edgar’s father. He was with his odious wife. He told me I didn’t have a choice. I had to have the funeral their way.”
I held her close. I never understood this whole shtick about “my-funeral-is-better-than-your-funeral.” And is somebody taking attendance at funerals? The stupidest question I’ve ever heard is, “How would you like it if no one came to your funeral?” Well, I suppose I wouldn’t care much. I’d be dead. And so the living are supposed to count up the mourners? Whoever has the most mourners, wins? Wins what?
“What did they want?” I asked.
“They wanted this god awful extravaganza. They wanted a Christian rock band. They wanted singing groups. They wanted praise Jesus songs mixed with eulogies by every relative they have.”
I asked, “I know eulogies, but how does this praise Jesus stuff work?”
She said, “The preacher gives a combination sermon eulogy then someone sings a song. Next somebody gets up and does another eulogy. Then another song. I don’t want to hear all that shit.”
“How long does this song/eulogy extravaganza last?”
“Hours.”
“Really?”
“Really. I went to one of Edgar’s uncle’s funerals. In this gargantuan mega-church they had huge screens, stadium size screens, immense flat screen things, hooked up to computers. They showed pictures, every picture in his life, huge twenty-foot pictures of a dead person, rotating from screen to screen, interrupted by songs from groups, some live on stage, some taped, but all shown on those damn screens. They sang endlessly.”
“Funeral dirges?”
“No, praise songs to god.”
“Huh?”
“As in, every other word was praise and all the other words were Jesus.”
“That’s it?”
“There might have been other stuff. It was numbing after about ten seconds. It was awful. Maybe it comforted the afflicted. Maybe it pleased the Dragon Lady and the Dictator.” Her body twitched and shuddered. “Thankfully mom and dad were there today.”
“What did they do?”
“Dad looked at the old bitch and her
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