up to Hank to provide the food, but she’d insisted she didn’t feel right coming empty handed. During breakfast, I convinced her to stay at my place. She argued that she didn’t want to intrude but I assured her she wouldn’t be. I had an empty guest room that had her name on it.
After breakfast we’d checked her out of her hotel and she asked if we could go to a grocery store to pick up a few things. I took her to the Piggly Wiggly and she’d spent the afternoon cookin’ up a storm while I got her room ready.
“Mini Quiche Florentine,” she replied. “I learned the recipe in home ec years ago and I just never forgot it.”
“Dang, girl,” Jimmy said, through a half-full mouth and a smile, “Your home ec class must’ve been slightly different than what we got at Firefly High.”
I glanced at Jimmy sharply. The words, taken alone, could have an accusatory meaning underlying them. But when I looked closely at his face, I could see that there was no snark there. He was genuinely making an observation.
Hank frowned at him, then turned to Cheyenne. “You should know, food is all Jimmy thinks about.”
“Hey!” Jimmy protested. “Food’s not all I think about.”
“Yeah,” I chimed in, good-natured grin on my face. “You’re forgetting all the time he devotes to thinking about drinking, or his boat. Or sleeping.”
Jimmy shrugged at the laughter that spurred. “Hey,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I know what I like, and I stick to it. Nothing wrong with that.”
Hank scooted his chair in closer to the table. It made a loud scraping sound that snapped the rest of us to attention, and I wasn’t entirely certain he hadn’t made the noise on purpose.
“We’ve got to talk about Pop’s funeral.” His voice made it clear it was time to get down to business.
“What about it?” I asked.
Hank pulled a sheaf of papers from his back pocket and unfolded them.
“Hank, you do know we already read Pop’s will, right?” Jimmy teased. “I know you’re old, but I didn’t think we had to worry about senility just yet.”
“This isn’t the will, smart ass.”
“What is it?” Cheyenne asked.
“It’s Pop’s last wishes for his funeral,” Hank replied.
“Are you kiddin’ me?” I couldn’t believe it. “He planned his own funeral?”
I hadn’t known our father to plan a single thing in his life. Unless you counted planning on how to get drunk. He planned that every day of his life.
“Looks that way,” Hank confirmed.
I had no idea what to expect. “So, let’s hear ’em.”
“He wants us to wear burgundy ties, because of that shit he found out about our family crest when he was on that Ancestry dot com site.”
“Wait a minute… Are you sayin’ I have to wear a tie?” Jimmy grimaced.
Hank’s only response was a tightening of his jaw.
“What?” Jimmy shrugged. “I’m just not a tie guy.”
Hank tilted his head and his neck cracked, the way he did right before he got in the metaphorical ring with someone. “Jimmy, I don’t much care if you wear God damn yoga pants. I’m just tryin’ to tell you what Pop wanted for his damn funeral. Now can I get through this list without you runnin’ your mouth?”
Jimmy leaned back in his chair and held his hands out in front of him, a wide grin on his face. “Damn, Hank. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
Hank shook his head and looked back down at the paper in front of him. “He wants the reception at Southern Comfort. He wants an open bar. Or, as he put it, ‘the drinks are on me,’.”
“Right, except they’re not on him. They’re on us,” I protested. “As the one who runs day to day operations, I’m in the best position to know exactly how much a reception full of grieving barflies could set us back in one afternoon. It ain’t pretty. I call for a veto.”
“Veto,” Hank seconded.
Jimmy lifted his hand in agreement. “Veto.”
We all looked at Cheyenne.
“Oh, veto.” She paused. “But what if…Sorry, I…uh…It’s none of my business.”
“Hell, yes it is,” Jimmy said. “Like Hank said, this is a family meeting, and you’re family.”
I agreed. “Say what’s on your mind.”
She nodded then pressed forward determinedly. “Okay. Well, since it was in his final wishes, what if we set a limit to the number of drinks?”
“Like drink tickets at a wedding?” Jimmy asked.
“I guess it does sound kind of tacky,” Cheyenne blushed. “I just thought there might be a way to