Fleur De Lies(107)
“Then he’s the only one on the planet who didn’t,” snapped Helen. She fired a sharp look at her husband. “QUIET! This is a sacred place. Show some respect.”
“This place is not sacred,” scoffed Dick, who’d won the cervical collar lottery today and was wrapped in foam like a sausage in butcher’s paper.
“It is so,” she challenged. “Do you hear anyone else yelling?”
“I can’t hear anyone other than you, Helen.”
Unh-oh. This wasn’t good.
“This place might not be sacred,” soothed Lucille, “but it sure feels sacred. It’s like we’re inside a church … where everything is quiet … and hushed.”
“Feels more like a library to me,” said Dick Stolee, who was sporting the second cervical collar. “Without the stale book smell.”
“Shhhh.” Lucille spread her hands wide and closed her eyes in her best imitation of a Hindi guru. “Listen to the silence.”
“You better hurry before Helen starts talking again,” razzed Dick.
“Do you hear that?” enthused Alice, her hand cupped around her ear. “I can hear the buzz of hundreds of honeybees.”
“That’s not bees,” said Nana. “That’s Osmond hummin’ off-key.”
All eyes darted back to the fence. Alice gasped. “What’s he doing with his mouth?”
“Looks like he’s smiling,” observed George.
“He hasn’t smiled for days,” said Tilly. “Why do you suppose he’s smiling now?”
“He’s probably smiling because he’s happy he’s not married to Helen,” Dick Teig wisecracked.
“Please ignore Richard,” instructed Helen in a dismissive tone. “We’re having a disagreement over funeral planning and, as usual, he’s contributing to the discussion by acting like a dickhead.”
“Eww, big surprise there,” droned Bernice. “Like he knows how to be anything but.”
“I know exactly what the disagreement is about,” said Grace. “He wants to be cremated and stuffed in a jar because it’s cheaper. But you want an open casket with all the trimmings. Right?”
“Hey! We’re not talking about Christmas dinner here,” groused Dick Teig. “I’m talking about trying to prevent thousands of dollars from being poured down a six-foot hole where the return on my investment is zilch!”
“Yeehaa!” whooped Dick Stolee, cheering him on. “What he said!”
“Shut up, Dick,” warned Grace. “You’re not gypping me out of an inground burial just because Dick Teig is too cheap to spring for Helen’s.”
I’m not sure what this discussion said about the Dicks’ fiscal ideology, but it said a great deal about the effectiveness of powerpoint presentations.
“Does everyone remember the number of the bus we’re on?” I broke in in an attempt to redirect their attention.
Silence descended with an audible thud. Gazes flitted left and right.
“Do we get lifelines?” asked Nana.
“We’re on bus number twenty-one,” I told them. “If you think you’re going to forget, write it down.”
“This sounds like something we should vote on,” asserted Lucille.