Tamra had the sign taped to the kitchen door before the last hymn had stopped ringing in my ears.
It was a clean white sheet of paper, printed off a computer. It had neat ruled lines for names and times. And across the top, in a cheerful round font, it said:
FUNERAL LUNCHEON SIGN-UP. NEW PROCESS EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.
She stood in front of it with her hands folded at her waist. The way a person stands when she’s expecting to be thanked.
“I know change is hard,” she said.
She said it to the five of us. We were standing there in our aprons in the church basement, with nowhere left to put our hands.
“But I talked to Pastor Shay, and we both think it’s time for some fresh ideas down here. We’ve found a wonderful catering service out of Grand Island. Prairie Table. They do a lovely spread for sixty people. Soup to dessert. And nobody has to stand over a hot stove at seven in the morning when they ought to be upstairs grieving with everybody else.”
Louise set down the roasting pan she’d been holding since we walked in.
It made a small sound against the counter. Not a slam. Just a sound.
“We’ve been doing the seven in the morning for thirty years, Tamra,” Louise said. “None of us minded.”
“I know,” Tamra said. And she did sound like she meant it kindly. “That’s exactly why it’s time. You’ve all given so much. Now you can come sit with everybody else at the service. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Nobody answered her.
Wanda was looking at the coffee urns. The two big hundred-cup ones. Eunice’s husband had bolted a special shelf to the wall for them, years ago, so they’d never tip over.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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