“They used an insurance company as a buffer. They have the money. We had an unspoken agreement.”
His voice was soft when he said this. It was clear he felt now like an unspoken ass.
“So, what kind of animal is Maxine. A lemur?” I asked.
“What?” said my dad. “She’s a human!”
“Oh,” I said. “Huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just surprised that an actual person wanted you to do a funeral. Did you get her wasted or something?”
My father tightened his grip on the wheel. His face was starting to redden. I tried to backtrack.
“I mean, I’m sure it’s similar to doing animals, right. Just like... less hairy.”
“Please stop talking,” said Dad.
I was surprised by the fragile tone of his voice.
“Dad,” I said.
“Enough,” he said.
A bug spattered against the windshield. Dad turned on the wipers, but all it did was smear a streak across the glass. He looked straight ahead.
“You think I want to bury pets for the rest of my life?” he said. “I just kind of fell into that when nothing else was happening. Give me a little credit, Tess.”
He sighed.
“This was supposed to be my first big break.”
We were walking down the trailhead now into some dense woods. The obituary in the paper said that both Maxine’s burial and service would take place here, but still, we saw no evidence of mourners. There were no markers or headstones along the path. No music in the air. Still we kept trudging forward, listening to the whirring of insects and the watery chirps of darting swallows. I watched my father’s disconsolate march, and somewhere in my frosty, shattered heart I felt a small pang of something.
“What were you going to do?” I asked.
“For the funeral?”
I nodded.
“If you’re just going to make fun of me,” he said, “I’d rather not discuss it.”
We tromped onward.
“I’m genuinely curious,” I said. “You’re famous for doing this crazy stuff, right? So lay it on me. What was your plan for Maxine the human?”
I could tell he was still pissed at me, but he smiled in spite of himself.
“It was going to be a marathon.”
He was quiet for a moment, but when he started talking again, it was in a fast, excited voice.
“Maxine Harp was a ninety-year-old runner. She started at the age of seventy, and kept at it. Each year she ran the New York Marathon and then she was interviewed by theToday Show. She always said she wanted to die in her running shoes. So, her service was going to be an honorary run.”
His eyes widened.
“I’m talking torches. Engraved medals. T-shirts. Starting pistols. And chauffeurs for people who wanted to watch from a limo. Then, at the end: another marathon. Of food this time. All her favorites to replace the calories burned in her honor! It was going to be epic! A trek to honor her life’s journey in the...”
