I wasn’t here to work. I was here to mourn.
Though I was sure Dad would have done the same.
Almost the entire town came out, with lawn chairs and picnic snacks. The wildflowers they had donated—all one thousand of them, arranged by color—sat stacked around Dad’s casket like a mountain of petals, as Elvistoo crooned “Suspicious Minds” from his portable karaoke machine.
And—perhaps best of all were—
“Oh my god, those balloons,” Rose gasped. “Does it—does that actually say . . .”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, they do.”
Unlimited Party had delivered—and decorated—the funeral home lawn, tying balloons to the backs of chairs and hanging streamers from the oak trees that read IT’S A DEATH! and HAPPY DEATH DAY! They had also passed out party hats and kazoos, and some of the town kids were playing “The Imperial March” near a statue of a crying angel.
Rose and I joined my family in the front row of chairs that had been set out, and it looked like Alice was nursing a migraine.
Carver said regretfully, “The balloons got her. She almost had a stroke, she was so livid,” while Alice, poor Alice, was muttering, “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill him—”
“Al, he’s already dead.”
I introduced Rose to my family. Whenever they’d come for Christmas, Rose had gone home to Indiana, always missing each other by mere hours at the airport. But finally, now, they got to meet. Mom leaned over Alice to shake Rose’s hand. “Pleasure, though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Rose replied.
“Did he have to order the balloons?” Alice wailed, and Nicki patted her on the shoulder comfortingly and asked Rose how her flight was.
I scanned the crowd for Ben, but I didn’t see him. Had he disappeared again? I hoped he was okay. One by one, the crows landed in the nearby oak tree and quietly ruffled their feathers against the wind. So he had to be here somewhere. That gave me some relief.
After a few minutes, Elvistoo’s rousing rendition of “Return to Sender” interrupted my thoughts, and I glanced down at the set list.
“You’re up,” Carver whispered.
Right.
Dad, in his will, said he didn’t want a preacher or a bishop or any sort of holy person. We weren’t really the organized-religion kind of family, even though we dealt in death. All he said by way of a speaker was the letter he wrote.
I took it from Karen, Dad’s lawyer. The paper was soft and crinkly. “It’s showtime.”
Alice looked worried. “Florence . . .”
“I can do it. Really.”
“You don’t have to do all of this alone—”
“I’m not,” I interrupted gently. “Because I want everyone up there with me. If that’s okay.”
The tension that had coiled Alice’s shoulders a moment before unwound, and she agreed. Carver bumped against me gently, giving me a little nod. I took Mom’s hand, and she took Alice’s, and Alice took Carver’s, and we made our way to the space in front of Dad’s casket. Elvistoo handed me the microphone.
I always went about everything on my own. I thought I could solve everything myself—though I guess I never really had to. I had family, and I had friends, and I had parents who loved me and would always love me until the end of time and—
And there were people out there, too, that I didn’t know and wanted to, like Ben, who saw me for all my chaotic flaws and my stubbornness and still wanted to stay.