Chapter 6
Miguel and I came back into the funeral home to find the siblings had moved to the director’s office to go over burial details. “Sorry,” Miguel said. “We should go.”
Sergio shook his head. “Stay. You’re part of this family. You loved her.”
That was true. She’d been with Baptista’s forever. Miguel nodded, ushering me just in the doorway.
The siblings were seated in a semicircle around Benjamin Alcott’s desk, the director himself in a high-backed black office chair, clasped hands resting on the blotter pad in front of him. I wondered if there was a special etiquette class morticians attended to get the body language, expressions, and mannerisms exactly right.
A series of brochures were neatly displayed on a side cabinet. I scanned them, noting the different facets of the business. It was almost identical to the funeral home we’d used for my mother. There were brochures for “green” burials, cremation options, casket sales, organ donation, planning a funeral for a loved one, and pre-planning services. It was a lot to take in.
“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Mr. Alcott said. “And on the heels of your grandfather’s death, it makes it that much more difficult.” He made a sorrowful tsk tsk tsk sound. “My sister and I knew your mother from school. Hers was a life taken far too soon.”
His voice was low, with a measured cadence that all on-screen funeral home personnel exhibited. The woman we’d dealt with at Lutz Family Funeral Home, Susan Hollister, had spoken with the same slow and empathetic tone. Another learned behavior, I thought. “Again,” he said, “I am so sorry for your loss. It’s a difficult time, but we do need to make the, er, arrangements.”
My thoughts drifted back to my mother’s death. Billy and I had been in charge of organizing her funeral. Cremation had been an option, but in the end, we’d wanted a physical grave site. What I’d realized since then was that the entire funeral process and the rituals of death were not for the deceased at all; they were for the people left behind who were grieving and needed to hold on to something tangible. Closure was such a cliché word, and yet a funeral provided just that. It was the final step in letting go of the person you’d lost. I wasn’t sure cremation could offer the same closure—I liked to visit my mother’s grave, to sit and talk to her, to bring her a bluebell and tiger lily bouquet—but ultimately, it was a very personal decision.
“She wasn’t particularly religious. We’d like to hold the wake or the service here,” Sergio said. “She chose cremation for Abuelo. I think we should do the same for her, then scatter her ashes in the ocean.”
Lisette crushed a balled-up tissue against her eyes to absorb her falling tears. “If we do that, there’s no place to visit.”
Ruben made a sound. “Hmmm. But I think Sergio’s right. If she didn’t see the ocean every day, she felt like something was off.”
Lisette scoffed as she looked from one brother to the other. “So what I want doesn’t matter?”
“It’s not about you, Lisette,” Sergio said in a placating voice. He sounded remarkably calm, though his face was tense. “It’s what she would have wanted. You know that.”
It made sense to me. From what I understood, Marisol had spent a good portion of her life in the water. What better way to honor her than by returning her to the place she loved so much?
Lisette threw up her hands and turned her back on us. Sergio and Ruben ignored her.
“We spent a lot of time with your mother, making arrangements for your grandfather,” Benjamin Alcott said after giving the grieving family a moment to gather themselves.
“She didn’t talk that much about it,” Ruben said. “Would you take us through it?”
“Of course. Let me start, though, by thanking you for coming to us during this difficult time. We know you have a choice, and we appreciate the confidence you’re placing in us as we lay your mother to rest. My sister and I worked with her on her father’s cremation. From our many conversations, I believe I have an understanding of her perspective on her eternal rest.”
Lisette had calmed down enough to listen, but now her chin fell, quivering, and her tears flowed. Her hunched shoulders heaved as she sobbed.
Mr. Alcott was unfazed. He had seen it all before. He gently slid a box of tissues closer to the edge of his desk and within her reach and continued. “Vista Ridge Cemetery is incredibly picturesque,” he continued. “It combines the natural beauty of the area with complete tranquility.” He looked pointedly at Lisette. “Now, this is most definitely an option. We also have donor services for those who wish to donate their bodies to science. However, based on my conversations with your mother as we planned for your grandfather, I do believe that she would have opted for cremation.”
“Why did she choose that?” Ruben asked.
Mr. Alcott didn’t seem surprised by the question, but he did tilt his head to the side slightly, as if he were wondering why Ruben didn’t already know the answer to his question. “She felt strongly that he return to the earth.”
“But his ashes are sitting in an urn in her house,” Lisette said. “She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t just scatter him to blow away in the wind because she wouldn’t have a place or anything to visit. Which is my point. Don’t we want that?”
“She wasn’t ready, that’s all,” Ruben said. He looked at Sergio, eyebrows lifted. “What did she tell us the other day? Something about needing to know where he was.”
Sergio nodded. “She was still grieving, but you know Abuelo. He spent his life camping and fishing. She wanted him to have that forever after.”
Mr. Alcott cleared his throat softly, bringing the attention in the room back to him. “Let me tell you about our services. There is a growing request for cremation, and of course we take every consideration possible to ensure the purity and authenticity of the remains. We have a state-of-the-art crematory and offer a viewing room for your family to view your mother prior to cremation.”
I recognized the silence that ensued. The three siblings wanted to remember their mother however they’d seen her last, not bloated and waterlogged.
Mr. Alcott continued. “We also have a lovely memorial garden where we offer in-ground burial with a separate scattering area where you may spread the ashes. You are always welcome to take your mother’s ashes, of course, as she did with your grandfather, or, finally, we have an aboveground inurnment in our lovely columbarium.”
“A place to come visit would be nice,” Sergio said. “I know she loved the ocean, but maybe we could spread some of the ashes here in the garden? I like the idea of her being in one place.”
They discussed the pros and cons of each scenario, their voices—even Lisette’s—amazingly calm and composed. It was as if the reality of what had happened had been filed away, allowing them to deal with the nitty-gritty details that had to be sorted through. “But she chose cremation for Abuelo,” Ruben said again. “She liked the idea of him going back to the earth.”
“Cremation,” Sergio said, making up his mind.
“Cremation,” Ruben agreed.
Lisette looked ready to combust, but she closed her eyes for a moment and calmed herself down, finally nodding. It wasn’t her choice, but she acquiesced. “Fine.”
“Excellent. It’s a fine choice and I do believe it’s what your mother would have wanted.” Mr. Alcott talked through the basic contract for funeral services, including the burial-versus-cremation options, the memorial garden, donor services, headstones for the cemetery, plaques for the garden, and reception services. When he’d finished with his talk, he slid the contract across the table toward the siblings. Ruben reached for it, but Lisette stepped up, taking the pen from the mortician and placing her hand on the paper to hold it in place.
It was interesting that, in an era when so many contracts were electronic and iPads and other devices were used to acknowledge and sign, the funeral home business was still pen and paper. Or maybe it was just Santa Sofia. The contract for my mother’s burial had been more extensive and had been done in triplicate, but it was still paper, nonetheless. They’d catch up with technology at some point, I imagined.
“We just need your initials, please.” He pointed to the lines as he ran through them, one by one. Lisette scribbled LM on each of them so quickly that I wondered how much attention she was paying.
“And signature here,” Mr. Alcott said, pointing with his index finger.
After she scratched in her name, he turned to the next page. “Here you acknowledge additional services offered,” he said. “Initial in the spaces.”
“If we want to add or change something with the wake, we can do that?” Ruben asked as Lisette went down the list adding LM to each space. From where I stood, they hardly looked like letters at all. Anyone who didn’t know the letters stood for Lisette Morales would be hard-pressed to figure them out.
“Most assuredly. We’ll meet to discuss all the details. I’ll need to get your stepfather’s approval, as well, as next of kin.”
Lisette finished initialing, signed in the final spot Mr. Alcott indicated, and slid the contract back to him. He rose, coming out from behind his desk and extending his hand to Ruben, Sergio, and finally, to Lisette. “Again, I am so sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks. We appreciate it,” Ruben said.
“Of course. I understand from the authorities that we will be in possession of your mother’s remains shortly. We can plan the service for Thursday. I can phone you later this afternoon to confirm.”
“Call me,” Lisette said.
Ruben looked at his sister with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. Was he irritated at her inserting herself as the go-to person? Or was he grateful that she was willing to take on that role? Or was he just happy that she was calm?
Miguel and I had been standing by the door. We scooted out without handshakes, and I wondered if Mr. Alcott’s hand was cold or warm, clammy or sweaty, dry or soft. Lisette’s ringing cell phone wiped the questions away. She answered as Mr. Alcott saw us all out. He’d just gone back inside, leaving us to ponder Marisol’s eternal rest, when Lisette cried out. “What are you saying?” Her voice was panic-stricken. She dropped her hand, the phone dangling from her loose grip.
Sergio grabbed it before it fell, holding it to his ear and talking with whoever was on the other end. We all stared, but I had a pretty good idea about what had upset Lisette.
Sergio confirmed it thirty seconds later. “That was the sheriff.” He raked his hands through his short hair, his fingers curving, pressing into his scalp like a metal claw. “She needs to meet with us. About Mom’s death.”
A mournful silence fell over them. It was as if they knew that Em was going to tell them the unthinkable—that their mother hadn’t drowned, she’d been murdered.