THE FUNERAL PLANNER

Chapter 10 Part 3: Organizational Strategy - The Resurrection of Lights Out

Chapter 10 Part 3

Ten miles down the road, I enter Pete’s now-completed log home on several acres of land. I am amazed at what Pete has managed to do with his own bare hands. Every log, every stone in the twenty-foot-high fireplace had been put in place by him. “This is incredible!” I announce. Siddhartha happily runs around.

“Thanks,” he replies, pouring me a glass of wine while he stokes a meal of Tex Mex-style chicken with a scrumptious aroma. “It just needs some help on the interior decorating. That’s where I kind of fall short.”

As I’m about to take a sip of my wine, my cell phone rings. I reach for it, only to discover the caller ID reads “Victor.” Under my breath I mutter, “Why now?”

Pete looks at me. “It’s that guy, right? I swear it’s always like that. One of the books I read said that’s to be expected. It’s kind of like a test to see if you can move on.”

“Well, I already did move on. And he no longer exists, therefore I can’t answer it.” I close my eyes and turn the phone off.

“Another book I read talked about that, too,” Pete informs me. “They call it denial. The author said pretending to move on is not the same thing as really moving on.”

“Yeah? Well, what about that phrase ‘fake it till you make it’?”

“Doesn’t count when it comes to breakups. At least ac­cording to twelve out of forty-two authors I read.”

“What do you think, Pete?” I ask him.

“I’m not sure,” he says, thinking it over.

“Well, why aren’t you in a relationship?”

“I’m not sure. I keep trying to figure it out.”

“Are you sure about anything?”

“Yeah, I’m sure I want a brick-red couch for the living room...but I’m not sure.”

I nod at him. “Well...I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah, I’ve got about twenty-five books on decorating to read. What do you think? Brick red, forest green...or caramel brown?”

“Hmm. I think some sort of mushy gray might be more fitting.” I don’t know if Pete got the metaphor, but it was black-and-white to me that I no longer cared to find out.

I prepare for a small group of seven workshoppers at the bar. I am taking roll call and waiting for Richard to show up when I realize that Grace Pintock, Arthur’s estranged wife and Tara’s mother, has joined the group. Siddhartha seems to sense some sort of connection and stays close to Grace.

I privately approach her. “It’s so good to see you. How are you, Mrs. Pintock?”

“I’m getting along, Madison, getting along. You know, some days are functional and some days aren’t. But...call me Grace, will you, please,” she says, offering me a warm hug, and then she sits back down.

As I return to finishing the roll, a tall, chunky man in an oversize jacket enters the bar. He sports a thick gray beard, a low-hanging baseball hat and dark sunglasses, making it dif­ficult to see his face.

“Hi, there,” I say. “Are you here for the workshop?”

The man nods. I check my paperwork and then look back at him. “You must be Alex Barber. Welcome.”

He shuffles a note over to me. The note reads “I’m a high school baseball coach from Cleveland, and unfortunately I’ve come down with laryngitis but this is the only week I could do this.”