“You mean, besides mon Dieu?” I rotated my cone, licking up all the drips. “She yelled, ‘C’est toi’ at him as he ran out the door. You probably heard that part. She said it a couple of times. Pretty vehemently.”
“And that means what?”
“ ‘It’s you.’ ”
“Right.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m open for insights if you have any.”
“Well, my initial thought was that she recognized him from somewhere, and not in a good way. But that’s probably a stretch. I know your dad fought in the war, but he said he was in North Africa and then Italy, so he wasn’t anywhere near France, was he?”
“Not that I’m aware. As far as I know, this is his first foray onto French soil. But he sure doesn’t want to be questioned about what happened with Solange, which is really unlike Dad. He’s so talkative, my main problem is usually trying to find a way to shut him up. I guess it goes with the territory. If you can talk a person’s ear off about the benefits of writing his own obituary, you can talk his ear off about anything.”
“Maybe your dad is finding it difficult to admit that, given the circumstances, his hard sell was politically incorrect.”
“Dad has never in his life admitted he’s wrong, so … who knows? Maybe you’re right. But I’ll tell you one thing. Profits at the Jolly Funeral Home would skyrocket if Dad wasn’t so pig-headed and stubborn. In fact, that’s the main reason we signed up for this tour. The idea was that a relaxed atmosphere in a neutral setting would promote calm and allow us to iron out some grave matters. Pun intended.”
“I didn’t realize the funeral industry had matters to iron out.”
“That’s because you’ve obviously had no need to employ our services yet. But there’s a real battle going on between the cremationists and the terra-firmists, and as baby boomers age, it’s only going to get worse.”
I shoved the remainder of my sugar cone in my mouth and flicked crumbs off my top as I finished chewing. “Sounds like you’re talking science fiction.”
“I’m talking profit and loss. I’ll give you the Cliffs Notes version. The cremationists, like me, are pushing for affordable crematory services and low-cost mausoleums. The terra-firmists, like Dad, stand behind traditional services like in-ground interment and coffins that can withstand nuclear attack, and they’re petitioning for additional cemeteries to accommodate the future onslaught of boomer clients. Our morticians association has just hired an expensive lobbyist to push our agenda through the state legislature, but none of us can agree whose agenda is going to be advanced, the cremationists or the terra-firmists. Hence, our desperate attempt to arrive at some type of unanimity before we fly home.”
“Any breakthroughs yet?”
“Nope. There’s a dozen of us on the trip, equally split between opposing camps, and no one’s willing to give an inch yet. But there’s a meeting scheduled tonight in the lounge, so if everyone gets liquored up, maybe we’ll see some movement. The old-timers are just too mired in tradition to realize that shifting religious attitudes, tax revenues, and commercial land development are changing the industry. They’ve clung to their ‘business as usual’ motto for decades, but if they continue, the only thing they’ll have to show for it will be a fistful of bankruptcy notices. Quite a legacy for the family members who are hoping to inherit the business, hunh?”
While Cal scouted out a trash bin for his plastic dish and spoon, I waited at a noisy intersection opposite the public parking lot, intrigued by the one-story building on the opposite corner. It occupied a large slab of real estate, was half-timbered in a pre-fab kind of way, sported no windows, and was mostly roof. The name attached above the front entrance read casino.