by Ana Bisset
“I guess we could go break his knees ourselves if you want,” said Nikki.
I looked at my two best friends and realized that while this was all ‘just talk’ they really would do just about anything for me. At that moment, I felt loved and appreciated. That’s when the tears started. They both enveloped me in a hug, and I let go.
_____________
Peering into the mirror behind the sun visor of my car I reapplied my makeup while Mel and Nikki were doing the same. I started up my vehicle and pulled out into the road.
“Doesn’t look like anyone is still coming from the Smith house,” I said looking back at the road behind me. “I hope we are not late.”
“There’s plenty of time to get there, check in with our families, and talk about all the people who graduated with us,” Nikki said. “But not out loud, I am going to need them as clients, especially during the winter months.”
I laughed, looking back in the rearview mirror. “This guy is coming up fast.” No sooner than I had said it, he passed us like we were standing still. “Guess he needed to get to the service in a hurry.”
“Huh,” Nikki said, “that was the Romano family daughter’s husband, Salvatore. Wonder if he was checking out the property too. He is in charge of the family’s business financing and such.”
“How do you know that?” Mel asked.
“He came to the bar one night with Mr. Romano. They wanted to talk to Neal and me about buying the place. Of course, we told them we weren’t interested in selling. But, he was the one handling all the files, and Mr. Romano introduced him as his son-in-law and business manager.”
“Nepotism at its best, I guess. Why were they interested in the bar? Did they give a reason?” I asked.
Nikki thought about it for a minute before she answered, “Not really. Just that they were interested in owning a few community businesses. They wanted to check with business owners in town who may be ready to part with their life’s work.”
“Did they make you a fair offer, or did they pad it to make it more enticing?”
“They didn’t make an offer. We refused right away before they had time to talk about money. I didn’t want to have business dealings with them,” Nikki said. “I don’t think Neal did either.”
“I’m not sure how I would feel about dealing with the Romanos. They weren’t a big crime family from what I got out of my source. Supposedly, they are now clean and not involved in mafia business. But, some say they still have ties and are just living outside of Boston because Mr. Romano did something to tick off a few people with pull,” I said.
“Wow, kicked out of the mob. I can see making the family move, then. He doesn’t seem like someone I’d want to be dealing with daily, you know? Always having to check if there is a knife in your back,” Nikki said.
We drove for a few more minutes and right before we got there, the hearse sped past us. “It is not as if I am driving slow! Everyone else is in a hurry,” I said.
“Passed by a speeding hearse,” Nikki said, shaking her head in shame.
“At least we know that we aren’t late if the body is just getting there,” I said.
CHAPTER SIX
The Miller Funeral Home had gone through significant renovations in the last ten years. While it was as old as the town, one of the first five businesses to open its doors in Black Ridge Cove, you wouldn’t know it to look at it. It had been modernized in architecture as well as the process.
The architecture set the building apart from every other on Market Street. It was octagonal, with a light gray man-made stone exterior that looked like ragged cinder blocks. The burnt orange roof took on the look of a cookie jar lid. Each corner of the octagonal shape was a floor to ceiling tinted window that matched the front glass doors. The people of the town believed Richard Miller had his heart in the right place when he decided to upgrade, but perhaps he should have hired a local contractor to do the job so the building would not stick out like a sore thumb as it did now.
But all of this was lost on Richard, as he took pride in the modernizing of his business. He told everyone who would listen about the new embalming room and a refrigeration area. How they now could take care of more than one person at a time. Describing in his new brochures how the process was all streamlined. He was happy to tell anyone and everyone about it, especially the older folk. I had heard him on several occasions talking with Grammie. Word-of-mouth marketing at its best.
The aesthetic changes would have made the original Richard Miller roll over in his grave, but he would have been proud to know that the business was surviving the test of time. How could it not, thought Libby. A company based on dying will always survive because as long as people are living, there will never stop being people who are dying.
When it came to service, the current Richard Miller ran the funeral home with class and grace, much like his father and his father before him. He is assisted by his oldest daughter, Leah, who will take over the business when her father retires, keeping it in the family. I wondered if Leah thought about any other possibilities for her life path, or was this what she always wanted? She was always shy. I looked over at her. While she stood with a smile on her face greeting visitors, she was wringing her hands. She looked worried, maybe fretful about the significant turnout. She must have known the whole town would be here?
Mel, Nikki, and I walked into the vestibule, stomped the snow off our boots, hung up our jackets, and walked through the next set of doors into a foyer, that was octagonal matching the outside structure of the building. There were eight doors around the room, seven leading to other parts of the building, the eighth being the set of doors we came in.
Richard enjoyed making an impression. Not only did he change the building—and grew the parking lot—he added services for his clientele that his father had never offered. The services included specialty caskets, and make up that would take years off your face, videos of the services, among other things.
Nikki, Mel and I went to school with one of the Miller boys who by chance of his birth order, was lucky enough not to be stuck as a mortician. Spence went to the other extreme and is a drag queen performer in Vegas. Guess I know where he learned to take years off someone's face using makeup.
There were two other young men from town dressed in black suits with crisp white shirts. They were high school age, with brown hair and the builds of football players. Mr. Miller often hired two or three high school boys to help temporarily. They were trying very hard to look respectful, though not pulling it off. Maybe if they stopped trying to impress the young woman who was the youngest granddaughter of the deceased. But, I guess as long as they don’t drop the casket, it’s all good.
_____________
Two of the doors were open, and the room was filled with people milling about. I saw my Grammie across the way standing in a group of her friends. There were those from church and others from the various clubs and organizations of which she is a member. While her group is large, I'm notice how it is shrinking.
I guess I didn't pay any attention to the fact that hers is the next group to go wherever it is the dead go. The thought of people who have always been a foundational part of my life not being around anymore struck me in a new and different way in the past year since my grandfather's death. Death is a reality of life, I knew that. I see evidence of that more often than I would like. But the thought that the current natural deaths which are here and in the not too distant future are ones of people that have had an active or passive part in shaping the person I am, it's disheartening.
I waved to my Grammie and smiled. She waved and smiled back. This was my first time here since Grampie's viewing and funeral. She had been here more times since, as the church ladies often help with lunches after the funerals. I wondered if she was having a hard time being here. Not that she would complain, she never complained.
"You know they are up to something," Mel said.
"Who? Grammie?" I asked.
"Yup. Mom wants me to
keep a closer watch on Grandma." Mel said.
"What could those sweet old ladies be up to?" Nikki nickered, knowing full well that they got into a bit of trouble.
"I don't know. Mom says a group of them went to the cell phone store in South Portland to get brand new phones and take a class on how to use them. Grandma told her she would not share the pass code. She was going to work the face recognition, but she was afraid she'd get a new wrinkle overnight, and it wouldn't recognize her." Mel laughed, "Now she is texting someone all the time."
"I noticed Grammie’s new phone," I said, "I'll have to ask her about.”
“Do. Then, report back.” Mel said.
"Well, if you ask me, I hope it will be fun, whatever they are planning." Nikki said as she looked towards the door of the viewing room where people were starting to go in, "Life is too short."
"Agreed. Plus, I don't think we will stop our antics when we get to their age." I said.
"Feels like we already have," said Mel.
Nikki shot her a look.
"I get it," Mel said, and she threw up her hands defensively to ward off any word weapon Nikki was going to use. "But I miss the three of us since Libby has been in Boston."
"Well, it doesn't look like that is going to be too much an issue going forward." Libby said, "at least not for the next couple of months, anyway."
"Don’t get upset with us if we look excited," Nikki said.
“I won’t. I might even start to be excited too if I knew what I was going to be doing next,” I said.
“I know that you may not want to hear this right now, but he isn’t the right one for you, anyway. But, if you need a shoulder to cry on, Lib, I have two that are always available for you,” Mel said.
“Awww… thanks, Mel.”
“And if you need someone to punch him, I’ll call Kyle for you,” Nikki said.
“Already with the jokes,” I said, feigning disbelief.
“Well, well. Look who is here. The whole Romano family. If you ask me, they are trying way too hard to fit in. First, they start serving lobster rolls at their Italian restaurant, then they show up at one of the founding families memorial services,” Nikki said.
“Weren’t they at the lie-in?” I asked.
“A few of them were. I saw the father in the kitchen and Mario did the catering,” Mel said.
“They catered it?”
“Light fare, but good. They had cheeses and fruit,” Mel said.
“I saw the son-in-law talking with Leah. He was laying on the charm, and she was lapping it up. I feel bad for Leah, not enough eligible young men in town,” Nikki said.
“What about us? Why do you not feel bad for us? I don’t see many men our age we haven’t already dated either,” Mel said.
“Well, if I didn’t think the mob family held too many risks, I’d say the sons are smoking hot, and we should go for that,” Nikki said. “But, as I said - mob. So, no thanks.”
“I don’t like the bad boy type anyway,” Mel said.
There was some silent signal given to the older crowd, that it was time to start the service because in one swoop they all began moving towards the gathering room where the memorial service was being held.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Does it matter where we sit?” I whispered looking around at the crowded chairs.
“As long as it is together,” Nikki said, “I don’t want to sit next to any of the old guys. I’m not in the mood to have my hand patted the entire service.”
Unfortunately, that wasn’t to be the case. By the time we got into the room, there were very few groups of seats in the same area. Mel and I sat behind the Romano family, next to a town deputy, and Nikki took the place next to Mario, their youngest son. There was one other seat open next to the daughter, Bianca, but her husband came in just then to take it.
I looked over at Mr. Lorenzo Romano, Sr. He was a large man, his salt and pepper hair thinning on top. He began looking at his program, squinted, and put his hand inside his jacket, then caught my eye. He smiled at me and leaned to the other side to say something to his attractive wife.
Kyle came up from the back center aisle, whispered something to the deputy, and switched seats. He smiled at my grimace, and we all waited for the service to begin. I looked around at people attending and found it odd that the family wasn’t there until I realize that either was the casket.Just a big portrait of the deceased, front and center, surrounded by flowers. I didn’t have to wonder long as the family came walking in followed by the casket being pushed by Leah.
The daughter went over to Richard Miller, seemingly upset. She pointed at the casket. He looked to be reassuring her and walked her to her seat. Then, he addressed everyone present.
“I hope you will excuse the mix-up. The casket was closed and locked at the Smith house, but the family had wanted a viewing here. So, it will just take us a minute to get it set up. Then, after the eulogy, you can depart by viewing Mr. Smith and sharing your condolences with his family.”
Leah looked at her father and shook her head, but he merely moved her aside as fathers are apt to do when a child makes a mistake. She stood there with her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide. I thought back to the times in high school when I had made an error in an article for my grandfather’s paper, The Cove Post. Then, I remembered how much harder it would be to have that mistake made in front of a room full of mourners and potential future clients, and I feel sorry for Leah.
While the men in black suits brought in the crowbar to pry the casket open, I leaned over to Mel and said, “Why does the family feel they need to have more than one viewing?”
“From what I understand there were strict instructions from John Smith,” Mel said. “He was very detailed about the whole affair, him being the last of the founding family to go that carried the Smith name.”
“It is still odd that they are making such an issue out of it. Wasn’t the casket open at the house? Didn’t people go to see him there?” I asked.
“Oh, the visitation and laying out is not viewing. Really, this is more formal. It is for anyone who knew him or his extended family. That was a more informal get together of close friends, neighbors, and family.” She answered. “I think his daughter wanted this one, from what I heard.”
“Isn’t that pretty much the same thing around here? I mean how many people who are here did not go there?” I said.
She looked around as I had just done, rolled her eyes and said, “Well, I didn’t see Bianca and Mario was catering when I was at the house. And then, there’s you.”
She had a point. One that could be the underlying reason why I was feeling so out of sorts. Did I belong in Black Ridge Cove anymore? Could I be the person I wanted to be and live in my past at the same time? Is that something I want to ask myself with ‘my past’ sitting right next to me? I am going to have to find a better way to avoid the good sheriff in the future or find a another way to deal with him.
“1,2,3… crack!” The two men in black both heaved on the crowbar at the same time, pushing up instead of down on what must have been the wrong side of the lid because it flipped off the casket did half a spin and fell to the floor behind them with a loud thunk barely missing their heads. Then, just like we were all taught in 8th-grade science class, the casket itself had an equal and opposite reaction, falling forward allowing one body to roll out onto the floor. The other occupant, Mr. Smith, hung halfway out as the casket came to rest leaning on the wheels of the coffin trolley. The rest of him stuck in as if he were tied from behind. His glasses, neatly folded, had fallen out of his hand and onto the floor among other photos and things people had placed in the coffin earlier.
You could hear a collective gasp roll through the crowd as people realized what had just happened. Some chose to look away, nosier people stretched to see more. I, being a member of the latter group, looked over the shoulder of the handsome Romano son in front of me and got a clear view at the dead man who was not a part of the founding family.
/>
“Oh no, it’s him,” I said once I got a good look at the body.
“It’s who?” Kyle asked, surprising me because I didn’t realize I had said it out loud and had forgotten he was right next to me.
I took another careful look, trying to figure out how to get out of this one, and turning to Kyle I said, “No one. I thought it was someone I met in Boston at work. Italian guys tend to start looking alike after a while.”
Lorenzo Jr., the Romano son I was peering over, looked back at me and smirked.
Kyle took another second to decide whether or not he believed me. I guess it didn’t matter since he needed to get to work.
“Alright, everybody remain calm and stay where you are,” he said as he walked up to the front of the room.