Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
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I was used to funerals, but three family deaths in as many months was nuts - that is if you considered my father dead. At the very least, I'd come to the conclusion father was a ghost of himself. Pun intended. Of all them, the passing of my dear uncle Mitch was the hardest to take. He'd been a surrogate father, brother, and friend, as well as my uncle. The fact he was murdered made it all the more difficult to swallow his loss. I was thankful Healy was by my side through those dark days.
What started off as a sexual attraction on my part and something of a relationship of convenience for him turned into a warm, supportive friendship very quickly. Under his hunky, slightly dim-witted exterior, was a caring and wonderful man. Despite all of the unsavory nonsense I put him through since we met, including his perception I was bat-shit crazy, Healy stuck with me. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd hooked up with a great guy and I hoped to keep him. That's the reason I backed off talking about my father, at least until he signaled he wanted to revisit the issue. My mantra became - "Que sera sera", or, more simply, "what will be, will be".
Mitch's viewing at Blacks Funeral Home was well attended. Everything the previous night had gone off without a hitch, except my chat with Jonathan about Detective Wong's cut finger. The notion the cop could be part of father's fraternity of undead blew me away, but I was never going to confide that to Jonathan or anybody else. Once Mitch was safely stowed away in the family crypt, I would look into the Hawaiian cop's motives and not before. Mitch would have my undivided attention and respect that day. I owed him that.
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Unbeknownst to me, Healy had gone out and bought a suit from Value Village earlier in the day, just to have something formal to wear to Mitch's funeral. The donated outfit was a very handsome piece, a little worn at the cuffs, but it fit him perfectly and he looked dashing in it. Amazingly, when I looked at the label inside the coat, it was an Armani. That famous brand name didn't register with Healy, given his upbringing in foster homes and being the simple guy he was. Healy's main concern was finding wearable duds for under $50.00, including dress shoes to match. Mission accomplished. What a guy.
If you have to attend a funeral, you'll want it to be on a sunny, warm day. We lucked out, and that first week of September was glorious with a clear blue sky, a light breeze, and mild temperature. The church was packed for Mitch's funeral, and a choir sang a beautiful rendition of Ave Maria. As the only surviving family member, I had a seat of honor in the front pew. Healy sat beside me in his new, used suit and I'll admit to a spark of pride about that development. For the first time in my life, I felt like a complete woman - all grown up, albeit broken up over the loss of my uncle. I tried to forget the fact Mitch had been put violently to death in the back of that very church only a few days earlier. My approach was to visualize him astride a big, noisy Harley, a smile on his face, wind in his hair, cruising through heavenly clouds. In my mind's eye, a gorgeous angel sat behind him, with her arms wrapped around his waist.
