Who Do I Talk To? (36 page)

That's when I lost it. “But . . . but . . . but . . .” I tried to say, the tears coming harder. “With Mom gone, I . . . I . . . can't afford the apartment Lee—Mr. Boyer—found for me. And . . . and . . . if I don't have an apartment, I . . . I can't get my boys back!” The last words were swallowed up as my whole body shook with sobs.

The two women just held me, crooning and soothing as if I was a child. And finally my sobs quieted, and I mopped my face and blew my nose.

“Now, listen, Gabby Fairbanks,” Estelle said, her voice soft but firm. “God hasn't brought you this far to leave you. If that plan for the apartment doesn't work out, it means God's got a better plan in mind. You hear? Trust Him, baby. Trust Him.” She gave me another hug and slipped out of the room.

“She's right,” Jodi said. “I'll call the Yada Yada sisters to pray about the apartment thing, but if you can put that aside, let it sit in Jesus' lap, let's work on the things that need to be done today.” She stood up. “Why don't we go to the funeral home first and, you know, find out how it's done when somebody dies in one city but needs to be buried in another state.”

I nodded, blew my nose again, and followed her out into the dining room. Then I stopped. “Wait . . . have you seen Dandy since we came in? Or Lucy?”

As it turned out, no one I asked had seen Lucy
or
Dandy all morning. At the reception desk, Angela shook her head. “But you know Lucy. Sometimes she takes the dog out and doesn't come back for hours. Just takes him along to do . . . whatever it is she does. I'm sure they'll be back eventually.”

Jodi had already wandered outside. “Well,” I said to Angela, pushing the front door open to follow, “if she brings Dandy in while I'm out, tell her to wait here for me. I want to spend some time with Dandy too.”

Jodi was standing on the sidewalk beside the big Manna House van parked in front of the shelter, standing on tiptoe in her sandals, peeking inside. As I came up to her, she turned. “Gabby, this is going to sound funny, but . . . back there, when we were praying, I think God gave me an idea how to get your mom's body back to North Dakota.”

“What do you mean?”

“Drive the casket there. Yourself. In Moby Van.”

I stared at her. “In
that?
I mean, can you
do
that?”

She threw up her hands. “I don't know! But the idea just dropped into my head while we were praying about what to do, like God was giving an answer. I didn't say anything back there, because, yeah, it sounds crazy. But standing here looking at this big ol' van, I'm thinking, why not? We prayed for an answer, didn't we?” Jodi giggled nervously, as if she couldn't believe she was talking this way.

“But . . . but . . . I'm sure you'd need some special permit or something. Who in the world would we ask about something like that?” I made a face. “They'll think we're nuts.”

“Probably. That's why
you're
going to ask.” Jodi laughed and pulled me toward her minivan. “Come on. I'll drive you to the funeral home. Then it's up to you.”

“Me! It's your idea.”

“Hope not. If it works, we're gonna give God the credit.”

We sat across the desk at Kirkland & Sons Funeral Home as the impeccably dressed man tapped his pen on the papers in front of him. He had sallow skin, thinning hair, and an annoying habit of pushing his horn-rims up his nose every few minutes. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Fairbanks; personal transport of a body is highly irregular. However, we
can
transport your mother's remains to . . .” He squinted at the paperwork. “. . . Minot, North Dakota, if we have the name and address of the appropriate funeral home for delivery.”

“How much?”

“Well, that depends on the mode of transportation. We can arrange for air, train, or ground. When do you want the body to arrive?”

“Why, as soon as possible. A few days . . .” I glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was Tuesday. Give a few days for my sisters to travel . . . “By this weekend?”

“Well then. We would probably need to send one of our hearses, which would run about . . .” He tapped some figures on his calculator. “. . . four thousand dollars.”

I stared at the man. The “discount package” he'd already offered added up to roughly five thousand, which included the casket—a moderately priced metal one in medium metallic blue with silver shade and a white crepe interior—and service fee for staff and facilities (“All paperwork, death and burial certificates, embalming, hairdresser, use of our chapel if you so desire, the hearse for transport . . .”).

I blew out a slow breath. “Can we, uh, have someplace where my friend and I can talk in private?”

“Of course.” The man politely showed us to a small “family room” with padded chairs, a coffeepot, and pitchers of ice water and closed the door behind him.

I looked at Jodi. “Jodi, I can't afford this! That's almost ten thousand dollars!”

She nodded. “I know. But the man said it was ‘highly irregular.' He didn't say it was illegal. I think we ought to check it out. I'll . . . I don't know. Call the County Clerk's office or something. And maybe you should call your aunt Mercy and find out what the funeral home in Minot says.”

I called Aunt Mercy at the library where she worked. She couldn't talk long, but she promised to call the funeral home that had handled everything when my dad died. “I think my brother had prepaid funeral costs here for both him and Martha. I'll call you back as soon as I find out anything . . . Oh, I finally got hold of Honor. She's pretty broken up. But she sounded like she would come for the funeral—drive, I think. I don't know about her boys. But I'll call her back as soon as we can make plans.”

It was already past noon. I told the funeral director we had to talk with family and I'd be back soon. Jodi and I walked a few blocks until we found a tiny restaurant and ordered homemade vegetable soup. I wasn't sure my stomach could handle anything heavier.

My cell phone rang halfway through my soup. Aunt Mercy. She was almost laughing. “Mr. Jacobs said, ‘Hogwash. Of course you can transport the body!' He said all you need is a permit from the county—which the funeral home there can get for you—and a vehicle that will hold the casket. Period.”

“You're kidding!”

“I'm not, sweetheart. Here's the information you'll need to fill out the permit. And I was right; your father prepaid for a casket, embalming—everything. There might be a few extra expenses since two funeral homes are involved, but the big things are covered. Jacobs said to tell your funeral director to call him if he has any questions.” I jotted down the information on a napkin, including Mr. Jacobs's phone number. “And Gabby, as soon as you decide when you can get here, let me know so I can make arrangements for a service on this end. Celeste and Honor need to know when to arrive. And there are a lot of people here who were very fond of your mom and dad.”

Jodi was waiting impatiently for news, her soup getting cold. Even though she was in her forties, she whooped like a schoolkid when I told her what Aunt Mercy had said. “See? See what God can do, Gabby?” She shook her head in amazement. “To tell you the truth, I'm still surprised when God answers my prayers. Some faith, huh?”

“Well, don't stop praying yet. I haven't even asked Mabel—or the board—if I can use Moby Van for something personal like this. And that huge van must be a gas hog. Can't imagine what the gas would cost all the way to North Dakota and back.”

Jodi pulled a stray strand of brown hair out of her mouth and chuckled. “A lot less than four thousand dollars, anyway!” She waved her soup spoon at me. “And I think we should go back and take apart Kirkland & Sons ‘discount package' and see what it'd cost for just the things you actually need. You won't need to use their chapel, unless . . .” She stopped and looked at me funny. “Gabby? I know you're going to have a funeral service for your mom back in Minot, but there are a lot of people here who've come to know and love your mom. Especially at Manna House. Why don't we plan something here for the staff and residents? Josh and Edesa got married in the multipurpose room at Manna House. I'm sure we could do a funeral. A memorial service to celebrate Martha's life!”

I got a little teary. “I'd like that. I know Mom would like that too.”

We ate our soup in silence for a minute; then I put my spoon down. “I can't do it. Can't imagine driving my mom's casket all the way to Minot by myself in that big ol' van. You gotta admit, Jodi, it's a little weird.”

Jodi turned her head and gazed out the restaurant window at the misty rain that had started since we'd arrived, almost as if she hadn't heard me. Then, as if somebody had flipped her On button, she snatched up the bill for our soup and dug out a ten from her purse. She left both on the table. “You won't have to. Come on. Let's go.”

I scooted out of the booth and followed her out of the restaurant. “What do you mean, I won't have to?”

She took my arm with a grin and started off down the sidewalk, ducking raindrops. “Because I'm going with you!”

chapter 37

Jodi Baxter and I came out of Mabel's office just as the supper bell was ringing. I'd reviewed with the Manna House director all the plans we were proposing. First, a celebration service for my mom's “homegoing” here at Manna House Thursday morning, open casket, everything. Followed by a repast supervised by Estelle. Then—if the board approved—loading the casket in Moby Van and driving to North Dakota, where I'd meet my sisters, have another funeral, and bury my mom beside my father in the Minot cemetery.

Mabel had been open to the idea of using the van but was noncommittal. But she was a hundred percent on board for hosting a memorial service for my mother at the shelter. “We'll all miss Martha,” she'd said. “I think she fulfilled a grandmotherly role for a lot of the young women and kids the last few weeks.”

I gave Jodi a tight hug in the foyer as she got ready to leave. “I don't know what I would've done without you today, Jodi. I mean, I can't believe you got the funeral home costs shaved off ! That's a huge help.”

She grinned. “Hey, it was fun seeing that funeral guy squirm. And don't you worry about the van, Gabby. If the board nixes the idea of using Moby, maybe we can take our Caravan if we take out all the seats. I've been wanting to go see my folks in Des Moines anyway. We could stop there the first night. It's on the way. Well . . . sorta.” Jodi peeked into the multipurpose room. “So where's Dandy? I'd like to say good-bye to him. You know, Hero Dog worked his way into our hearts at the Baxter household that week you guys stayed with us.”

Good question. Angela had already gone for the day, but Carolyn was babysitting the phone and the door buzzer in the reception cubicle for the evening shift. “Hey, Carolyn. Have you seen Dandy or Lucy?”

Carolyn shrugged. “Haven't seen either one.”

Jodi and I looked at each other. “I'm worried,” I said.

But when curfew rolled around, and Lucy still hadn't come back with my mother's dog, I started to get mad. That's when I discovered Dandy's food and water bowls, bag of kibbles, and Lucy's cart were gone too.

I wished I'd gone home with Jodi Baxter again. My mother's empty bunk—as well as Lucy's and the empty dog bed—weighed on my spirit in the night like heavy stones. I finally took my pillow and blanket, found Sarge, and asked if I could sack out on a couch in the multipurpose room, just for tonight.

Sarge shook her finger at me. “Gabby Fairbanks, you break more rules than the rest of the women on the bed list put together! I know it's tough losing your
madre
, so I'm gonna let you do it, but I'm waking you up
before
I ring the wake-up bell so nobody else gets a wise idea.
Capisce?
”

I curled up on a couch in the corner, but my mind was still spinning. I still needed to call Lee Boyer and tell him about my changed circumstances. My next appointment with him was scheduled for tomorrow at eleven, but with everything I had to do, there was no way! Hopefully we could talk by phone . . .

Celeste had called me twice that evening. I told her how things were working out on this end. Awhile later she called to say she'd gotten a flight from Juneau to Billings, Montana, would meet up with Honor flying in from Los Angeles, and the two of them would rent a car and drive to Minot, arriving sometime on Friday.

“I'm impressed you two were able to coordinate that,” I'd said.

“Ha. Coordinate nothing. I bought her a ticket.
She
was talking about borrowing a car from a friend and driving straight through. I can just imagine some rattletrap with no muffler breaking down in the middle of the Mojave Desert, and we'd have to call in the state troopers to find her. Even if she didn't, she'd probably show up two days after the funeral.”