Free Final Arrangements by Nia Ryan

you must have known about
this moment. Or at least you for certain know of it now, since
you're right here beside me. I don't know what to do. I don't know
how to decide such a thing. Help me, please .
    She waited. And waited some more. Upstairs
she could hear Phil turning off the shower. She'd forgotten to make
fresh coffee. Soon he'd be downstairs and no telling in what kind
of mood. There was no answer from God. "Oh Lord," she said aloud,
this time not shutting her eyes or bowing her head. "I'm not
getting through. I feel like I'm all alone here."
    "Shannon?" Phil called from somewhere
upstairs. "Did you call me?"
    "No!"
    "I heard you say something. Did you make the
coffee yet?"
    "No!"
    Follow me. And let the dead bury their own
dead . There. The thought popped into her head. A thought from
God, she supposed. From some dimly remembered bible story about a
would-be follower of Jesus who had to go bury his father. Who took
off and left Jesus standing there. Somebody Jesus failed to
convince. But why would God put the image in her mind? She hadn't
left Jesus to bury her father. And would it be considered the
equivalent of leaving Jesus if she returned to San Francisco to
complete the business deal? Were General Kremsky and the folks at
Brunstetter and Griffen the dead she was returning home to
bury?
    Stay or go? Not an easy decision. There was
the very significant matter of two and a half million dollars. A
sum nobody in their right mind could ignore. In the first place,
she wasn't hurting anybody by going back to work, by attending to
her business affairs. After all, she had to continue living her
life, had her entire future to think about. And in the second
place, burying the dead was only a ritual for those left behind, to
comfort them and give them closure. Or was it something more?
    She wasn't sure if, strictly speaking, it was
a religious commandment, or on the level of a pious duty to bury
the dead. People were first souls, then spirits and then physical
matter. The burial thing dealt with the physical matter portion of
the triad. It was only the physical body of her father. Just a few
pounds of assorted minerals, if the scientists were to be believed,
the rest mostly water. He was no longer living in it. Of course,
one day, according to scripture, the body would be reassembled and
restored to better than mint condition, but that was later.
    And Dad himself never buried Mother! Well,
there it was, then. The answer, if not from God, at least from the
example set previously by the parent in question. Like father, like
daughter. The burial ritual could wait a few days. Or perhaps even
longer. The burial of her mother had already waited two years.
    But why do I feel so guilty about leaving?
I won't be gone forever. Just a few days. Until Sunday. She
felt as if she was in a dream. She walked back to the kitchen and
grabbed her straw purse and floppy hat and went out front, to where
the lady driver was stubbing out a cigarette out by the curb,
taking advantage of Shannon's indecision to enjoy a small moment
for herself.
    "Are you ready, Ms. Ireland?"
    "Yes."
    "I'll get your luggage. Is it inside the
door?"
    "Never mind. There is no luggage. No wait. I
have to grab my laptop." She ran into the bedroom grabbed the bag
holding her ultra-light, super thin model, slipping the entire
thing into her straw purse before running back to the front. "Let's
just go. And quickly."
    "Yes, ma'am. By the way, nice hat. Where did
you get it?"
    "From my mother. It's an antique."
    "Great flower. Is it plastic or silk?"
    "I have no idea."
    As the car pulled away from the curb, Shannon
looked back to the side yard gate, where she thought Stretch,
having heard the limo start up, might come to see what was going
on. But he wasn't there. He was still sitting under the arbor. Or
maybe he was back to fiddling with the hose, adding some more water
to her dad's pool. Waiting for her to come out and talk about it.
Talk about the Christian thing to do. Of