funeral arrangements, but we are in the habit of making whatever allowances possible to make this painful process a little more bearable.
“Well, they are precious,” I say, smiling huge while sending up a silent prayer that they don’t relieve themselves in my office.
“Yes.” She twirls the tail of the smaller one between her fingers. “They are.”
“So,” I say, determined to move things along as quickly and efficiently as possible, “it is my understanding we’re to have a traditional viewing and burial?”
Maria nods while Vicky fawns over her companions, not seeming to be paying one iota of attention.
“Well, then. Why don’t we head over to the casket room so you can make a selection? Afterward, we can come back here to go over the financials and finalize plans.”
In no time at all, the women settle on a mid-priced pine casket. It’s sturdy and masculine and what they both feel he’d choose for himself.
We are back in my office in record time, and I’m counting my blessings that so far, our tiny guests have left no souvenirs.
“I have a request,” Vicky says, just as we’re beginning to wrap things up.
The command in her tone catches me off guard, but I’m honestly relieved that she’s finally coming out of the fog she’s been in and partaking in this meeting. “Name it.” I give her my most sincere smile. “We will do whatever possible to make it happen.”
“Harold—he wanted to be buried with his babies.” She runs a hand lovingly over Lucy’s head, then adjusts the bows on her ears.
“The dogs,” Maria quickly clarifies. “She doesn’t mean actual babies.”
Like that somehow makes this request any more acceptable.
My eyes volley between the two of them and then focus on the little purse puppies cuddled together in Vicky’s lap. I can taste the bile rising in the back of my throat—climbing higher and higher with every second that ticks by. I’m not even sure what I’m waiting for…the hook, maybe? There’s no way they are serious.
They can’t be.
Once the silence becomes unbearably uncomfortable, I have little choice but to accept that this is in fact not a joke and that these women are completely deranged.
I don’t care that my father is in the back embalming this man as we speak. If they decide to take their business elsewhere, so be it. Daddy will just have to work it out. I refuse to entertain this for even a moment longer.
“I’m sorry,” I say, choking on disgust. “There’s no way I can go along with this.”
“But you just sai—” Harold’s widow starts.
The tips of my ears are as hot as Hades. “I know what I said, but I cannot allow you to murder those poor puppies.”
Maria snorts before losing herself to a fit of hysterical laughter. She’s folded over, hooting like a complete loon.
I feel like I’ve just transported to an alternate universe. What the hell is wrong with these people? I understand grief—probably better than most. But this…never in my wildest dreams did I imagine such a request.
“I don’t see how you could possibly find any of this funny.” I’m literally seconds away from calling the authorities on Lucy and Ricky’s behalf. Horrified doesn’t come close to defining what I feel.
“Not these puppies,” Maria finally squeaks out. “They’re already dead.”
“Oh, thank God.” My body literally deflates as I collapse into my seat with relief. I reach for a stack of paper from my desk and start fanning myself with it.
“We’re not monsters,” Vicky snaps, clearly offended. The eyes she has aimed at me reflect the derision I felt just moments ago.
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Boudreaux. I misunderstood.”
The woman sneers before stuffing her pets back into their bag. “I’ll be right back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t mind her,” Maria tells me, sensing my discomfort. “It was an honest mistake, and quite hilarious. God, I needed that laugh, today of all days. Thank you.”
I nod and try to force a smile while still staring after the angry woman. “I feel awful.”
“Don’t,” Maria says. “She’s been completely out of sorts.”
“That’s understandable.”
Maria and I make small talk while awaiting her mother’s return. I assume she’s gone out for a breather or even a cigarette. Maybe to let the puppies have a potty break. I am not at all prepared for what happens when she comes back into the room, though I thought I’d seen just about everything by now.
“This is Wilma and Fred.”
I turn toward the door to find Vicky lugging two taxidermied Malteses—one tucked beneath each arm.
“I see,” I say, trying like hell