Free Twenty-Eight and a Half Wishes by Denise Grover Swank Page A

do. I wasn't used to working with my hair though and it took me multiple tries until I finally got it to where it looked passable. Surveying the results, I decided Violet would approve. I ate a quick sandwich and headed to the funeral home.
    Violet and Mike were already there. Violet took one look at me as I walked in, clearly not expecting what she saw.
    “Rose, you look…different.” She gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek.
    “Good different?”
    She pulled away and studied me. “Good… I think. Older. Just different.”
    Mike kissed me on the cheek. “You look beautiful, Rose. Violet just prefers that you look seventeen years old is all.”
    That wasn't the reaction I hoped for, but I’d take it. Mike was probably right.
    Daddy’s younger sister, Aunt Bessie, had already arrived along with her husband, Uncle Earl. They lived in Lafayette County, the next county over, but I’d only seen them a few times since Daddy’s funeral. Momma made it no secret she wasn’t partial to them. I always suspected it had something to do with Aunt Bessie being younger and more stylish. Uncle Earl rarely spoke but that made him guilty by association.
    They both gave me warm hugs.
    “Look at you, Rose, all grown up. You’re beautiful, child.” Aunt Bessie gushed.
    “Thanks, Aunt Bessie.” I shrugged off her comment. “It’s good to see you.” I meant it. She was one of the few people in the world who understood me.
    She put an arm around my shoulder. “I’m sorry about your momma.”
    I thanked her, wondering why I didn’t feel more grief. Mostly I felt freedom.
    A man in a suit told us it was time. The five of us walked down a hall and he opened a door to the Magnolia Room, revealing an open casket against the far wall flanked by sprays of flowers. They made me feel like we were hosting a garden party and Momma was the hostess everyone came to see.
    Laid in her coffin, Momma looked different. Kind of like a new and improved Momma, only she was dead and couldn’t enjoy it. They had fixed her hair and put a small hat over the spot where her head had been smashed in. She actually had on makeup, though it was kind of pancakey. But even so, she looked good, better than I’d ever seen her.
    I stood in front of the coffin unsure of what was expected of me. Daddy’s funeral was a hazy memory. Overcome with grief, I never wondered what to do. As I stared at Momma, I dug deep inside, finding my sorrow buried under all the pain she’d inflicted on me for so many years. Maybe Momma was right after all. Maybe I did have a demon.
    Violet stood next to the casket and patted Momma’s hand, tears falling down her cheeks. I couldn’t help but wonder what she shed her tears for: the loss of the Momma we had or the loss of the Momma we always wanted.
    Soon, the funeral home director returned. “People are beginnin’ to arrive.”
    I remembered from Daddy’s funeral that it was the family’s duty to stand at the casket and greet the guests. Momma and Violet had done it before. I knew I couldn't get out of it this time.
    Momma didn't have very many real friends, but everybody and their brother showed up, hoping to get a glimpse of the hole in her head. An elderly member of the Henryetta Southern Baptist Church limped over and patted Violet’s hand. “Your mother was a dear woman who will be greatly missed.”
    I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “Are you talkin’ about Agnes Gardner?” I had a sneaking suspicion she was at the wrong visitation.
    Violet dug her elbow into my side. “Thank you, Mrs. Stringer. It helps so much to hear that.”
    “She looks good, so good I almost didn’t recognize her.”
    I almost laughed, but my side was already sore. I didn’t need any more bruises.
    As the evening went on, I discovered that visitations are all about lying. Momma never looked so good, both physically and in personality, as she did dead. We heard how wonderful, kind, clever, and generous she was, adjectives no one in their