Free Grave Undertaking by Mark de Castrique

the categories of the financial package Hoffman might offer. I hung up the phone with a head and legal pad swirling in numbers.
    My first concern was explaining to Mom why I would be going to Atlanta. I didn’t want to lie but I didn’t want her to worry about a deal that might go nowhere. I decided to call Uncle Wayne. To my shock, he picked up the phone after two rings.
    “Are you okay?” I asked.
    “Fine. Why shouldn’t I be?”
    “You’re right by the phone.”
    He laughed. “Getting ready to telephone you. See if you need any help. People always die when it’s least convenient.”
    “Nobody’s died, but we did have a problem.” I told him about Dad’s pursuit of a haircut.
    “Well, no two ways about it,” stated my uncle, “we got to figure a way to keep your dad from wandering off. Come springtime some tourist will run over him.”
    “There might be an answer before then,” I said. “I just talked to Ted Sandiford in Atlanta. I think Hoffman is going to make an offer for the funeral home.”
    My uncle said nothing for a few seconds. All I heard was shallow breathing.
    “Uncle Wayne?”
    “Could be the best thing, Barry. It’s up to you and your mother.”
    “I want your say in it too, Uncle Wayne. And they want us to stay on.”
    “An old coot like me?”
    “Come on. You know more than any of us. And you have to admit most of our business is old coots.”
    That got a chuckle out of him. “You told your mother yet?”
    “No, and that’s a problem. They want me in Atlanta Friday to talk about a deal. What do you think? Should we have a family meeting?”
    “Yes, when we’ve got something specific to discuss. But give your mom credit, Barry. She lives every day with the uncertainty of your father’s condition. She can live with the uncertainty of a business deal. Tell her you got a call and you’re going to at least listen to what they have to say. You’re the one with the future stake in all this. We’re here to support you.”
    I thanked him and hung up. His advice made sense. Lunch would be the time to bring it up. Family decisions were always best discussed around the kitchen table.
    I spent the rest of the morning compiling the figures for Ted Sandiford. Most of the information would be required for our business tax return anyway. Over tomato soup and turkey sandwiches, I told Mom about my Friday trip. She seemed more concerned about road conditions than the actual meeting. I suspected she didn’t want to discuss the implications of a sale as far as what she and Dad would do. Like Uncle Wayne, she kept deferring to whatever I thought best for me. I wanted to say what’s best for me is to know what’s best for you, but I held my tongue. Uncle Wayne was right. We needed more information.
    At three o’clock, I was cross-referencing purchase records for embalming fluid and reconstructive cosmetics when a loud rap shook the office door.
    “Wake you up?” asked Tommy Lee. He came in and eased into the red leather chair beside my desk.
    “Why? Is this normally nap time in your department?”
    “Not today. We had to work. Too many crazies out in the snow.” As he spoke the last words, his rough face reddened as he remembered Dad’s escapade.
    “Present company included?”
    “You know I didn’t mean that. One of the reasons I dropped by was to see how he’s doing.”
    “He’s fine, but it looks like Mom and I have to become jailers. Any tips?”
    Tommy Lee shifted in the chair, catching his holstered gun on the armrest. “You might consider installing inside electric locks. They work with a magnetic plate and a keypad. Punch in the code and the door opens. Then you’re not worrying about using a regular key to lock and unlock the doors.”
    “Beats P.J.’s suggestion of an invisible fence,” I said.
    “You could put a fenced area in the backyard. Give your dad a little roaming room without being able to wander off.”
    The idea had merit, but not if we were moving.