“Yes?”
“You can’t call my clients insane.”
“I didn’t call her insane,” he argues. “I only said she’s deeply disturbed. You’re the one who brought up insanity.”
“That’s not any better,” I say as I rub my temples. The beginnings of a headache are starting to bloom behind my eyes, and I have a feeling it’s not the stress of the funeral creating it. No. I think my headache is entirely due to the man-child next to me.
“Please,” I beg, “be respectful of her grief. If not for me, then for the money she is paying me. I need to keep the electricity on if you want a heater when you go to sleep.”
He says nothing, but arches a brow at me.
“For your morning coffee, then.”
He visibly blanches, all humor draining from his face. “I’ll behave,” he says seriously.
“Good.” I smooth my shirt one more time and head toward the parlor door.
“If she asks whether Great Aunt Mira will retain her hunting instincts in the afterlife, do we answer as theologians or zoologists?”
“We answerpolitely,” I mutter. My headache is now fully formed and throbbing.
Chapter Five
Sunshine
The funeral was flawless. The floors shone, and the flowers were perfect, both catching the light enough to make the space feel warm, not sterile. The casket… basket never moved, even with a grieving woman clutching it as if it might drift away if she let go. Everything that was within my power was perfect.
The only people who showed up were Miss Geraldine, her aggressively earnest nephew, and his stoic boyfriend.
Miss Geraldine sat front and center, her grief folding her inward. Her thin shoulders curled, and her hands clenched tight in her lap. She was holding herself together by sheer will. In the moments where her grief won, she wailed, her shoulders shakingand her breathing coming in uneven gasps, but she didn’t look silly or dramatic. She looked utterly devastated.
It didn’t feel like a cat funeral at that point; it felt like a real person had passed who was loved and is dearly missed.
Beside her sat her nephew, Eric. He was a large man dressed in a black plaid flannel shirt. His arms were covered in greyscale tattoos that were so incredibly realistic, it seemed like they would walk right off his skin. His head was polished to a shine that rivaled my newly restored floors. His red beard was perhaps the most impressive part of him, softening what could’ve been hard edges.
He held himself like a man on the edge of collapse. His back was straight, and his jaw was set. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap, knuckles bleached of all color. His eyes were red and glossy, dangerously close to tears. Every few seconds, he would inhale sharply like he was struggling to breathe.
On his other side sat Ewan. He was slightly older and much more introverted than his boyfriend. His hair was cut close to his scalp in a military style fade. His black button-down was fitted, revealing a sculpted body that had been put to work on more than one occasion. He was also covered in tattoos, but his were a more classic Sailor Jerry-style, with anchors and vixens and other nautical items. He was composed and stoic. Calm in a way that makes me think he has obviously seen chaos before and has no issues navigating it.
He rested one hand on Eric’s knee, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles. He was the calm in the emotional storm that was Eric and Geraldine. He was carefully attentive to both of them as their sadness attempted to drown them.
Stepping to the front of the room, I’m surprised by how steady I am; I’m not shaking, and my heart isn’t pounding in my chest. I’m not nervous at all.
“We gather here today,” I begin, voice soft and ringing clear, “to honor the life of Mira…”
Eric stands abruptly, moving me to the side with two firm hands on my shoulders. He leans against the podium with a serious look on his face. I try to hide my shock at the service being hijacked, but it’s hard because Ember’s giggles are loud in the almost empty room.
“I didn’t know Great Aunt Mira personally,” he begins, voice cracking with loosely held emotion, “but I know what it means to love someone so deeply that you refuse to let their story end.”
Miss Geraldine makes a small, wounded sound, and I watch as Ewan places his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently in comfort.
“She chose to return,” Eric continues after a shaky breath. “Maybe not in the way we all expected…” He gestures dramatically at the basket next to him. “But she came back, and she stayed close. She watched over the people she loved.” Eric presses a hand to his chest as if physically clutching his broken heart. “She may have walked on four paws instead of two feet, but her spirit stood tall.”
Geraldine lets out a howl, her sadness rolling through her. Ewan places a gentle arm around her frail body and offers his shoulder to cry on, which she accepts gratefully.
“And when she knocked things from shelves,” Eric continues, pointing sharply at an invisible item on an invisible shelf, “she wasn’t being destructive. She was reminding usthat nothing is permanent and everything,everythingfalls eventually.”
Miss Geraldine is lying in Ewan’s lap, her whole body shaking with her sobs. Eric wipes his face with the back of his hand, visibly affected by his own speech.
