it. I could turn them each into a tree.”
“You’re not dumping my father out into the vegetable garden or turning him into a pod. Don’t you think that would be a little . . . undignified?”
She turned and scowled at him. “Harlan Callaghan, you are being disagreeable just for the sake of being disagreeable. I’m trying to come up with a solution to a problem, so how about this? This is what I really want to do with them anyway, and this is what I’ll need approval from the council for.”
I felt myself bracing for impact.
“Fireworks.”
“Fireworks?” I said as my dad pushed his plate away and crossed his arms, falling back in his seat with a thump.
“Yes, I love this idea,” Gigi said with a grin. “We have their ashes loaded into fireworks and then launch them off into the sky, where they explode into a magnificent shimmer of beauty before floating gently back down to the earth. Or in this case, they’ll land in the lake, which all three of them would approve of. Isn’t that a fabulous idea?”
Harlan rubbed a hand across his face. “You want to turn my father’s remains into a firecracker?”
“Not a firecracker. Listen to my words. A beautiful, wonderful . . . celestial shower of shimmering lights. I think it sounds magical.” Gigi was getting her Irish up, her frustration with Harlan visibly growing.
It didn’t sound magical so much as it sounded weird, but then again, it was a little strange to have them all sitting on the mantel, too. Especially considering Gigi liked to decorate the urns for the holidays. My grandfather had been wrapped in tinsel, holly, and evergreen boughs. He’d had Easter eggs tucked behind him, and once in a while, if she remembered it was his birthday, she’d move his urn to the kitchen table, where we all had to eat cake while staring at it. All things considered, maybe Gus had been wise to say the dead husbands were not welcome in his home.
“I’ve contacted the company,” Gigi continued, “and they can have the fireworks created and back to me in five or six weeks, which I’m hoping will be just in time for New Year’s Eve. Wouldn’t that be special? Ring in the New Year by sending them off in such a dramatic fashion? But of course, I can’t launch fireworks without some help. I mean, I could, but I’m trying to be responsible. Aren’t you impressed with me?”
“I don’t like any of these suggestions,” my father said. “Can’t we just take them to the cemetery like normal people?”
“The cemetery is so boring. This is their last great adventure. I say we send them off in style. Now all I need is for you two to get the council to approve it, because I’ll want to have some sort of dedication right before we launch them into space. You just remind those council members that I didn’t even have to ask for their permission, you know. I could have just asked Percy O’Keefe to launch them off Bent Rock, and no one could have stopped me.”
My father looked at me from across the table, resignation all over his face. Gigi was tenacious with a capital ten.
I shrugged. “I guess there’s no harm in asking.”
“It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” my dad said, “but I know you, Mom. Now that you’ve sunk your teeth into this idea, you’ll drive me crazy until I ask. So, yes, I’ll run it past the council, but I’m also going to ask Father O’Reilly. There may be some sort of special permission we need to get from the church, you know.”
“Rats!” She snapped her fingers. “I never thought of that. Okay, well, the next time you’re playing poker with O’Reilly, make sure you let him win a few rounds before you ask him, and give him a few drinks, too.”
“Plying a priest with alcohol and money will not change the teachings of the church.”
She scowled. “Since when did you turn into such a Bible-thumper? I didn’t raise you that way.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Did I? Well, good for me then, but in this case, I need the church to have a little flexibility. See what you can do.”
“There you are!” The door of the restaurant banged against the frame as Emily came in looking flushed and annoyed. Wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, she still managed to look glamorous. It was so annoying. She strode over to our table, hands on her hips.