Good Mourning by Elizabeth Meyer Page A

Tony didn’t explicitly say it, but when I went to fill him in on the case, I could tell by his tone that he was bothered. I didn’t want to step on any toes with this family.
    â€œThink you can help me out with this?” he said without looking me in the eye. He must have known the answer was yes; even when I didn’t agree with everything Tony did, I was eager to learn from him what I could and never said noto helping out. On some days, my can-do attitude benefited both of us, like Tony was a teacher and I was the top student in his class. Others, there was this tone, like maybe he kind of resented needing my help.
    I nodded respectfully. “Of course.”
    â€œThe family wants this to be . . . over the top. We need to make anything that they want happen, you hear me?”
    â€œLoud and clear,” I said.
    An hour later, Dr. Feelgood’s family was standing in the foyer. I felt a little embarrassed at the garlic smell wafting from the break room downstairs. It was lunchtime, and Bill and some of the guys had ordered from their favorite Italian restaurant. Tony looked a little more nervous than usual and wiped his hand on the back of his jacket before offering it to the two people standing in front of him. “We’re so sorry for your loss,” he said.
    I ignored Monica’s gaze as Tony and I walked the family into his office, very conscious that this was going to be a truly elaborate planning session.
    The family sat down and I pulled out a notebook to write down their requests. “Did you have anything particular in mind?” I asked. I noticed that Tony hadn’t taken out his binder of flower arrangements. This client was beyond lilies, and Tony was going for a bigger sell.
    The man and woman spoke to each other in Spanish for a moment and then turned to face me. Then in English, the woman said, “The best of everything.”
    Tony nodded, and I could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes. “That’s what we’re here for,” he said. Clearly these people had money to burn, but I still felt a little guilty about letting them overspend on a memorial service. Some of the best funerals I had witnessed since working at Crawford weren’t necessarily the most expensive, but the ones that had heart—personalized eulogies, a friend who played guitar, mementos from the person’s life scattered around the room. Tony’s voice broke my train of thought. “Liz, did you get that?”
    I looked up, startled. “Oh, um, yes. Can you say it one more time?”
    The woman started talking so fast that even though she was speaking English, I could barely make out what she was saying. Orchards? No, no, that doesn’t make sense. Oh, orchids! Wait, how many? Forty thousand dollars’ worth? I wrote it down, waiting, hoping that Tony would step in and bring them down to earth. Instead, he nodded as they rattled off other demands: They wanted to fly palm trees in to make the space feel more like home. They also wanted five-foot vases and enough candles to light up a city block.
    â€œAnd what about the casket?” Tony asked.
    I felt a knot in my stomach. I knew what was coming next.
    â€œOh,” said the woman, looking at the man and shrugging. “The best you have.”
    Tony tried to hide a small smile. “Well, we have abronze one. It’s a beauty. Top of the line. Bronze through and through, velvet lined . . . you can’t do better than that.”
    â€œYes,” the woman said. “Fine.”
    I remembered that casket from when Tony walked me through the options for my dad, and I had practically choked on my horror when he mentioned the price. But he had quickly switched gears when I told him that my dad’s office had been all mahogany. “Well then, he should have a mahogany casket,” said Tony. Once Tony knew that it made sense for my dad, he didn’t push. Spending a lot on a