Free Going to the Chapel by Janet Tronstad

how much Aunt Ruth must hate asking me for help. Well, I guess my mother would know, too. And her mother before her.
    Suddenly, I realize Aunt Inga said we’ll work it out. That word we covers a lot of territory. “Did Aunt Ruth say she wanted my help?”
    “She needs your help,” Aunt Inga says. “It doesn’t matter what she says.”
    It matters to me. “Unless she asks me, I don’t think I should be getting into her business.”
    “This is family business,” Aunt Inga says. “We’re all family.”
    Aunt Inga never knew all of the times Elaine called me her half cousin when we were growing up. Even then I knew Aunt Inga felt pulled apart with her love for me and my mother on one side and her love for her own family on the other. No one should ever have half families. Sometimes I think even a stepfamily has it easier. At least with a step, you’re going forward. With a half, you’re coming apart.
    “I’ll call when I know anything,” I finally just say. It is pointless to upset Aunt Inga by refusing to ask Mr. Z when I already know the answer has to be no.
    I can see Cassie is puzzled. Either that or she’s looking worried because I’m probably turning a little green.
    “Well, I better get back to my crocheting,” Aunt Inga says. “How many petals do you need for the aisle anyway? I have sixty-four.”
    “That sounds like plenty,” I say. “Don’t strain your eyes with all that crocheting.”
    “I won’t. You’re sure you’ll call tomorrow?”
    “I’ll call.”
    I stand still and just hold the receiver in my hand after Aunt Inga has hung up.
    “Are you okay?” Cassie asks.
    “I’m doomed.”
    Cassie is worried about me so I tell her about the conversation I just had with Aunt Inga.
    “Of course, Elaine’s wedding is planned for Thanksgiving weekend so there’s probably already a funeral booked,” Cassie says to be comforting.
    “There will be a funeral,” I agree. “It’s eleven daysaway yet so the person is probably not even dead at this point, but someone will want to be buried then.”
    Surely someone will die a week or so from now. That’s one of the challenging things about the funeral business. No one plans too far ahead. Although Mr. Z does have a prepaid plan that is popular with people, no one actually schedules their funeral in advance like couples do who are planning a wedding. Actually, if the Big M were a wedding chapel, it would probably not even have an open date for Elaine’s wedding. I’m surprised Aunt Ruth didn’t think of that. I guess Aunt Ruth is too desperate to think. She’s probably still hoping that one of those Palm Springs hotels will decide she’s not so bad to deal with after all.
    “Maybe you should call Doug,” Cassie says.
    “He won’t know if there will be a funeral in eleven days,” I say in surprise.
    “No, but he sounded like he was under a lot of stress when I talked to him,” Cassie said. “I know he’s young, but stress isn’t good for anyone.”
    I’m sure Cassie was thinking about the man I talked to at the Big M this morning. His name was Robert Cameron and he said almost those same words about his brother, James, who had died unexpectedly. The two brothers hadn’t talked to each other for three years because they’d had an argument over their mother’s will.
    Robert shook his head as we talked about what he wanted for the final viewing arrangements for James. Robert kept talking about their argument as if he couldn’t let go of it. He said that, if he had known the stress his brother was under because of problems withhis business, he would have given James every single dime of both of their shares of the estate just to ease his troubles. Robert said he’d rather have his brother around than all of the money in the world. He didn’t know why they had been fighting so long about it all anyway. They’d wasted some of their best years together.
    “I’ll call Doug in the morning,” I say. I don’t tell Cassie, but