The Funeral Planner (38 page)

Her eyes light up for a moment. “Really?”

“Really,” I assure her.

“Sally, you know that Guy didn’t have any family. You have a lot of property here—how would you feel about burying him on yours?” says Richard.

Sally stops crying and looks at us both. “Why, I would be honored to have him here…but what about a casket? He should have a nice one. Mahogany. He always liked mahogany…but they’re well over five thousand at Tribute in a Box,” she says. “I remember from when Joe died. And they’re the only ones around here. I’ll help pay for it, but I won’t give a cent to that Tribute in a Box company after the way they took advantage of me.”

“I’m sure I have a mahogany casket left in stock at the old funeral home from before Tribute in a Box took over. We can use one of those,” offers Richard. “And they’re much less expensive.”

“Fine,” says Sally. “Count me in for five hundred.”

Richard and I share a look

“Don’t we still need a funeral home?” Sally asks, wiping her eyes with worn-down tissues.

“No. We don’t have to, unless we need the space for viewing and a service,” explains Richard. “If we have a viewing we most likely have to embalm him. If not, I can make sure his remains are washed and disinfected. Maddy and I thought we’d have a memorial service for him at the bar.”

“A memorial service is nice. And the three of us can have a graveside prayer for him. Will you both come to that?”

“Of course,” says Richard.

“By the way, what was Guy’s favorite food?” I ask Sally.

“Well,” she says coyly,“he used to say he lived for my sandwiches and lemonade.”

“Was there any kind of music he had a preference for?”

“He liked it when I played Beethoven as he worked, but he always talked about Roy Vernon’s singing,” she says with fondness. “He asked me to go with him to hear Roy sing on Thursday nights at the bowling alley…but I just haven’t been able to leave the house since…you know.”

We say our goodbyes and head outside to the truck.

“Isn’t a mahogany casket at least three or four grand?” I ask Richard.

“Yep. I’ve got a thousand I can put in to cover it, but then I’m figuring on another five hundred for all the liquor at the service.”

“I can put in five,” I say.

There’s a look of gratitude in his eyes. “Maybe others will pitch in, too.”

“Hey, Richard. Do you mind if I take a run at some ideas for the memorial service?”

He smiles. “Not at all.”

I remember the extraordinary painting that Lillian Jones made of Guy fixing Sally’s fence. I head over to the library with Sid to have a talk with Mrs. Jones about it.

Later that day, I take Guy’s box of photos with me to Ann Arbor. Sid accompanies me. I meet with Sierra, and later with Eleanor and Charlie, and I even get Daniel to sit still and listen to me.

Two days later, Richard closes the bar to the public for the entire night and devotes the time and space to Guy’s life celebration ceremony with about twenty townspeople and bar regulars who knew him. A memory board with photos of Guy is erected at the entrance of the bar, along with a donation bucket for the cost of the funeral. The paintings by Lillian Jones sit on easels on either side of the fireplace where a circle of chairs has been placed.

Richard and I start out by serving everyone Guy’s favorite draft ale. Siddhartha makes sure no one feels alone, making herself available for instant companionship with a lick on the hand in return for a pat on the head. Once everyone is seated comfortably around the fireplace, my natural inclination to produce the ceremony kicks in, and I ask Eleanor and Charlie, who are there, to help pass out sandwiches to the mourners. My brother Daniel sits quietly in the back of the bar with a pen and pad of paper in hand. Sierra and Milton stand by for support and video assistance. I first invite Sierra to project a life bio video of Guy on the TV monitor. The threeminute video displays a montage of the photos from the box in Guy’s apartment, and the paintings of him by Lillian Jones. It all plays to the symphonic strains of Beethoven. Everyone mentions how they never knew he had won awards for his engineering designs.

I get up and explain that usually a life bio video includes interviews of family and friends, but there was no time or budget for that and so instead we’re inviting those present to take a turn and tell stories about Guy as the torch is passed. In this case, the torch is one of the metal contraptions that Guy invented. The contraption is first passed to Lillian Jones who starts the storytelling, and then there’s Wally, and all the other bar regulars and townspeople who either knew Guy or had hired him in the past. If someone is shy, my mother masterfully puts them at ease with a prompt to get them going, and Charlie humorously reminds them to have another sip of beer.

After everyone’s spoken, Mom introduces a surprise mourner, local singer Roy Vernon. Roy stands up in the back of the room. I see the shadow of someone else back there but I’m not sure who it is.

Roy moves toward the fire and stands before everyone. “I didn’t know Guy the way you all did. I knew him as the guy who was there every Thursday night to hear me sing, the guy who truly appreciated my gifts, and I came to count on seeing him there. After a while, his presence alone became a source of inspiration for me…and so this one’s for Guy.”

Roy sings and plays his guitar. Everyone is in awe as Roy nears the end of his song. The entire bar is silent. Suddenly, Sally appears from the shadows and slowly comes forth, holding a pitcher in her hand. Everyone knows this is the first time Sally’s left the house in the ten months since Joe passed. Their silent respect for her fills the room. Richard immediately offers Sally a chair. She sits and listens quietly as Roy sings another song. Siddhartha is by her side, as if sensing that she’s in need of support. There’s a huge round of applause. Sally has tears in her eyes. Then Eleanor asks Sally if she has a story to tell.

“Yes, I do,” replies Sally, and she slowly stands up holding the pitcher in her hand. “Guy was an amazing man. After Joe left, I couldn’t function, but Guy was always there…to help with chores, to bring me groceries, to fix my fence…and then some…” Everyone smiles, as her fence is the talk of the town. “He got me to laugh again. He used to sit on the porch at the end of each day with a glass of lemonade, just appreciating the sunset. I never saw a man so content with every moment. So I, uh, brought some of his favorite lemonade for everyone.” There are tears in her eyes.

“That is so beautiful, Sally,” I say.

“Thank you for sharing that,” says Richard. He helps her with the pitcher. “Everyone, grab a shot glass for some of this delicious lemonade.” Everyone cheers for Sally, recognizing that in a deeply ironic way, Guy’s death brought Sally back to life.

Sally smiles at the group and sits down, visibly allowing a weight of regret to lift from her. Daniel signals our mother. Our mother looks at me. “I think Daniel’s ready.”

“Okay,” I say, still moved by Sally’s appearance. “Can you introduce him, Mom?” Eleanor nods and announces Daniel as the nephew of Sam Banks and a poet who has something to say about Guy based on everyone’s words and sentiments tonight.

Daniel stands next to the fireplace and reads a poem he’s just written. It is a masterful work of on-the-spot-interactive-collective-poem-making. Richard asks Daniel for a copy to hang in the bar. Sally asks him for a copy to put in her house. Mrs. Jones asks for a copy to frame in the library. And Roy Vernon asks for a copy to turn into a ballad in memory of Guy. Daniel is more than surprised by the reactions—remarkably his doom and gloom seems to subside.

Eleanor and Charlie share a knowing glance. “Our children are quite a credit to us, aren’t they, dear?” says Charlie.

“Yes, sweetie, they are,” replies Eleanor, turning to Daniel and me.

Charlie grins at her.

“I know.” She smiles.

Everyone mills about continuing to drink and memorialize Guy. A buzz grows through the crowd. They wish they had more funerals like this in town, and not the rip-offs they’ve been getting from Tribute in a Box. I overhear Donny, who runs the local symphony orchestra, tell Wally, “All the pallbearers are carrying one of these fancy Tribute in a Box caskets to the grave when the bottom drops out! And you know what hit the ground, besides the dead guy? Wadded-up newspaper!”

“Did ya hear about the TIAB branch in Kalamazoo? Cremated the wrong guy. Family sued for emotional damages. They never got to see the body and then found out the ashes were a scam, too. TIAB tried to squirm out of it, saying ‘not to view’ is not damaging, but guess what? The prosecution handed the jury TIAB’s literature about how viewing is ‘essential for grief wellness’ and they finally had to pay up.”

“How was Guy able to pay for this?” Mrs. Jones asks me.

“Well, technically, if there are no heirs or assets, then the state will cover approximately $947 in funeral costs. The rest of it Richard, Sally and I pitched in on.”

Rocky, the mailman, stands up on a bar stool and lifts his mug of beer. “Hey, everyone, I have an idea, let’s petition our congressman to stop the rip-offs from Tribute in a Box and make room for memorials that mean something, man.”

I hesitantly raise my hand. “Uh, excuse me, Rocky, well, actually, excuse me, everyone, but you can all start expressing your concerns and comments right now. I started a blog at
www.lightsoutenterprises.blogspot.com
. You can let everyone in town or anyone all over the world know what you think. It might help to get it off your chests and put it on the table—I mean, on the screen.”

“What’s the address again?” asks Mrs. Jones as she pulls a pen and paper out of her purse.

Rocky shouts, “
Lightsoutenterprises.com
! Great idea, Maddy!”

I take a moment to be alone outside. I watch the moonlight glisten over the serene lake water and I start to cry, sniffling over my own memories of Guy and how beautiful this tribute to him has been.

“Care for a cup of tea?” says a voice in the dark behind me.

I turn around, shocked to see Victor Winston standing in silhouette. “Victor! Hi…what are you doing here?!”

“You did write ‘come whenever,’ for that advisory board meeting regarding Lights Out, but I have to say, from the looks of it, you’re doing just fine.”

“I—I had no idea when you were coming. How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been lurking in the back since Lillian Jones got up to speak. I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m sorry about Guy. Sounds like he was truly beloved.”

I realize I had mistaken the shadow in the back of the room for Sally, when all along it was Victor.

“Was that your brother Daniel, the poet?” I nod. “He’s quite talented. And your mother’s quite an emcee. Now I know where you get it.”

“So you saw…pretty much everything.”

“Pretty much. And I saw you light up. I have to say, you can take the woman out of the sunshine, but you can’t take the sunshine out of the woman.”

I smile. No one’s referred to me as “sunshine” since Uncle Sam passed away. Siddhartha finds me outside, clearly looking to make sure I’m okay.

“This must be Sid,” says Victor, bending down to gently pet her and instantly endearing himself to her. “Hello, Sid. She’s sweet.”

“Yeah, sweet and mischievous at the same time. Siddhartha, say ‘hi five’ to Victor.” Siddhartha lifts her paw in the air. Victor smiles, and Sid licks his face.

“Siddhartha is her full name?”

“Yes. We’re on a journey together.”

“Any discoveries to report?”

“The joy of unconditional love for starters,” I say, giving Siddhartha a warm hug. “So how was your trip?”

“Good,” he says. “I checked into the Comfort Inn downtown.”

I had wondered about that—where he would stay if he came and if I should offer Uncle Sam’s place. I am relieved to hear that he didn’t make any assumptions.

The back door swings open and Sierra and Milton appear. Sierra immediately recognizes Victor.

“Victor. Hi. This is Milton. Milton, Victor. What brings you here?”

“I thought it was time for an advisory board meeting with Maddy. Are you still on the board? You’re welcome to join us.”

“It’s at the local bowling alley,” I add.

“Oh, darn, I’m going out of town,” says Sierra.

“You are?” asks Milton.

“Hmm…I forgot to tell you,” she says. “Maddy, it was a very meaningful evening. I’m proud of you. We’ve got to get back to Ann Arbor now.”

“Thanks for all your help.”

Sierra camouflages a whisper in my ear with a goodbye hug. “Let your fire shine.” She winks at me as they leave, then Eleanor appears.

“Maddy?”

“Mom, over here. I want you to meet someone.” Eleanor walks over to where we’re standing in the light. “Mom, this is Victor Winston. He’s the guy who seconded Uncle Sam on Lights Out. Victor, this is my mom.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. You’ve got quite a daughter.”

“Thank you, I know.” She looks him over. “Would you like a sandwich?”

“I’d love one.”

For the remainder of the evening, I introduce Victor to my family, to Richard Wright and to bar friends. Richard and I notice Wally offer to escort Sally home. We share a glance, one that humbly recognizes the ironies of how one event leads to another.