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“It’s very nice.”
“Would you like me to show you a full-sized glossy red oak casket? We have one on display in the other room. Since the bill wasn’t prepaid, there isn’t a formal contract and you can still replace anything that isn’t to your satisfaction.”
I shake my head. “No. But thank you. Whatever she picked is fine. I want her to have what she wanted.”
Kenny Chapman nods with a smile. “Wonderful. Then there’s just the matter of payment.”
“Do you take Visa?”
“We do.”
I dig into my purse, pull out my wallet, and hold the card across the desk. “Here you go. Is there anything else we need to discuss?”
“When would you like the service to be held?”
“I don’t know. As soon you can do it, I guess.”
He slides the invoice back to his side of the desk, takes a convenient credit card machine from a drawer. “We’ll need tomorrow to prep. How would Friday work? Two to five and seven to nine for viewing hours?”
“Okay.”
“And nine a.m. for mass at Saint Matthew’s on Saturday, followed by a short ceremony at thecrematory?”
“Sure.”
“Would you prefer to make the arrangements with Saint Matthew’s or have us handle that?”
“You, please.”
“Of course. There’s a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar preparation fee.”
I purse my lips. I don’t know why, especially since the bill is over $9,000 already, but adding another fee to make a phone call just irks me. “Maybe you could use thenon-premium white satin liner, and we can call it even?”
Kenny Chapman looks appalled. I don’t care.
He clears his throat. “We’ll absorb the fee as a courtesy.”
I don’t think it will break him. I force a smile. “Thank you.”
He swipes my card, slides a receipt over for me to sign. I scribble my name and stand. “Is there anything I need to do?”
“We’ll need clothing. Her favorite dress or outfit, perhaps?”
“Anything else?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. We’ll make sure the church includes the viewing times in their weekly bulletin that goes out tomorrow so their parishioners are aware of your mom’s passing.”
“Great. So drop off clothes tomorrow and then just come at two p.m. on Friday?”
“You and whatever family members you’d like to invite can come at one for a private viewing. We want to make sure you’re happy with the way she looks.”
I lift my purse to my shoulder. “It’ll just be me.”
He nods, steps around his desk, and extends a hand. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Out front, I gulp fresh air. How the heck does that guy spend all day in that place? It smells weird, and my chest feels scratchy, like I’m breaking out in a rash. Though outside isn’t much better; it’s thick and soupy. By the time Iwalk the twenty steps to my parked rental car, my skin is damp with a sheen of sweat. God, I hate how sticky this time of the year gets in Louisiana. Actually, I dislike this place year-round. I’ve been here less than eight hours, and I’m already itching to leave. Maybe I should do it—put this crappy rental car in drive and head north. Don’t stop until I hit Manhattan. But there are things I’m hoping this trip will accomplish, aside from burying my mother. Like rattling my memory, filling in the rest of the missing pieces.
As if on cue following that thought, my phone buzzes from somewhere in my bag. I start the ignition to get the air going before digging it out. Lucas’s name is displayed on the screen, an incoming text.Heis definitely a puzzle piece, so I swipe to read.