The Funeral Planner (34 page)

One night during a thunderstorm, I’m reading and discover a passage where the author claims that only by caring for animals can man really know how to love himself and others. I look at Sid conked out on the couch next to me with her head upside down, front paws straight up in the air, back legs spread for that ever-desirable tummy rub. I gently rub her stomach.

I pull out my notebook and instead of recording my thoughts I start an old-fashioned handwritten letter to Victor.

Dear Adviser Winston,

I write to you from my native country of Michigan. The emotional armor I felt compelled to wear in the city has begun to evaporate here, allowing for a sense of perspective I have not had in years…if ever, where I can see that the quest for success has blinded me. I recognize a drive for approval, but from whom and why, I wonder. The addiction to work, compliments of a freelance life, has been replaced by a compulsion to find myself. Excavation is taking place on Clark Lake. I am, however, happy to tell you that I am determined to find my Self and have a good life, unlike a few of the unhappy CEOs I came to know through Lights Out. I do have some help on my journey…her name is Siddhartha. And I’m in love. Is it okay to have help on this journey if the companionship is humane, but not human?

Sincerely,

Advisee Banks.

P.S. Have not picked up a newspaper in two months, with exception of puppy potty-training purposes.

Days later, I’m ready to start seeing people again. I invite my parents to the cottage for dinner and to meet Siddhartha.

One look at Sid, and Eleanor is smitten. The two take an instant liking to each other. Eleanor plays with Sid like a grandchild, cooing and tossing her a toy. I show my parents the results of Sid’s recent education: sitting, lying down, rolling over and shaking on “hi five.”

“I think you two should go to dinner and leave Sid and me together here,” says Eleanor. “I’m sorry, but she’s just too precious.”

Charlie lifts a brow. “I think she’s serious.”

“Me, too. Come on, Mom. I promise to tell you Siddhartha stories on the way.”

Eleanor finally pulls herself away from Sid. “Okay, but if you ever need a dog-sitter, call me.”

I lock up the cottage and tell Sid we’ll see her later. Then Charlie, Eleanor and I pile into the car.

“Where are we going, Dad?” I ask.

“I thought I’d take you to the Eagle’s Nest.”

“Why is that familiar?”

“It’s where your dad and Sam went the night he passed away,” says Eleanor.

“Oh, right, seems like I’ve heard about it since then, though,” I say, realizing I left my black ribbon at the cottage.

Once seated inside the restaurant Charlie orders a merlot, Eleanor orders a pinot grigio and I order a cold local beer.

“So, dear,” says Eleanor, “what are you doing out here all by yourself ?”

“Licking my wounds and trusting that new bearings will arrive soon.”

“I still think it was a good business,” she adds.

“Mom…if you don’t mind, I’m on a business diet.”

“Well, this is a first. Honey, are you feeling all right?”

Charlie grins. “You sound like me now, Eleanor.”

The waitress returns. “Drinks are on the house.”

We all look surprised. “Why is that?” asks Charlie.

The waitress shrugs. “The bartender insisted.”

We all turn our heads. Standing behind the long well-worn wooden bar, nodding a warm hello, is Richard Wright.

I recognize him immediately and wave back. “That’s Richard Wright,” I tell my parents. “Uncle Sam’s friend who used to own the only local funeral home in town. He told me he was coming to work here but I forgot.”

Richard Wright appears at our table. “Hello, Madison, Mr. and Mrs. Banks.”

“Please, Charlie and Eleanor,” says Charlie.

“Thanks for the drinks,” I say.

“I always keep my promise, just like Sam did.” He smiles. “So what brings you to town?”

“The business died….”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Real sorry.”

I try to stay off the business track. “Thanks. I’m staying at Uncle Sam’s for now.”

“Well, if you need anything at all while you’re up here, you call me. And if you need a job, or a reason to pass the time, I could use an extra hand behind the bar. Place gets pretty busy in the summers. You know how to pour?”

“Thanks, Richard. I’ll keep that in mind.”

We chitchat some more about local weather and how much we all miss Uncle Sam. I start to wonder if my chance meeting with Richard Wright is fortuitous and if his offer might be something I should seriously consider.

Sierra is the next person to arrive at the cottage a few days later. She gets out of her car and we hug each other, holding on tight. It is a long, heartfelt embrace until Siddhartha whines to get in on the action. Sierra sees the puppy and swiftly abandons our hug to kneel down next to Sid.

“Hey there, Siddhartha. You’re quite the pretty one, aren’t you.” Siddhartha tenderly places her paw on Sierra’s arm and licks her face.

“And smart, too.” I smile.

Sierra laughs. She pets Sid and looks up at me. “She’s got such a sweet disposition. You found a winner, Madison.”

“I didn’t find her. She found me.”

“Know what I think?” says Sierra, standing up now. “I don’t think she
found
you—I think she
rescued
you. Honestly, I’ve never seen you look better.”

“Really? Well, maybe we rescued each other. You look pretty wonderful yourself.”

“I brought you a present.” She pulls a Ziploc bag from her purse. “Homemade chocolate chip cookies.”

“Thanks,” I laugh. “This time I promise to eat every last one of them. Come on. Let’s go for a sail.”

Sierra, Siddhartha and I set sail in the Sunfish, laughing and splashing each other. In the middle of the lake, we settle down for tuna fish sandwiches and cookies.

“So how are you doing without Lights Out?” asks Sierra.

“I’m not doing. I’m being. Or trying to. But I gotta tell you, being gets boring.” When she laughs I ask,“Sierra, how did you get your business to grow so fast?”

“First of all, my business is a much simpler one. But what I did do and still do is practice flexing the muscle of gratitude.”

“The muscle of gratitude?” I say teasingly. “Sounds like the title of a sermon.”

“Well, it is in some ways. It’s about getting into clearly defined affirmations such as ‘I am grateful for my happiness,’ ‘I am grateful for my successful business.’ Say it enough times over and over and voilà, success and happiness appear.”

“I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work for me.”

“That’s because you get stuck in the past. Drop the regrets, sweetie. Just take a deep breath and exhale them.”

I take a deep breath and exhale. Sierra applauds. Sid gently puts her paw on my hand. “The next step, Maddy, and this is crucial, is to keep moving.”

“How do you know you’re going in the right direction?”

“You
make
it the right direction…because the only wrong direction is no direction at all. That’s getting stuck in a state of paralysis, and well…then you might as well turn the lights out.”

“Was there something I did in college that made me successful? Like, did I practice a certain custom or ritual?”

Sierra laughs. “Unrelenting drive and passion. And when you hit an obstacle you found a way around it—no, through it. I have no doubt you’ll find your way through this one, too.”

“No, I mean was there something I did on a regular basis?”

Sierra thinks for a moment. “You used to take Tara and me out to dinner every week and tell us we were your most trusted friends, and then you’d ask us to advise you on all aspects of your business and give you feedback.”

“Did I listen?”

“All the time,” says Sierra. “A lot of times you still did it your way, but you made us feel such a part of your decisions that we always believed we were part of your success.”

I ponder that, and then hesitantly reveal a deep insecurity. “Do you think I can still be successful as an entrepreneur?”

Sierra holds my hands in hers. “Yes. Your results have yet to play themselves out. I’m just waiting for the green light so I can be back on board. You can always count on me, Maddy.”

“I know. That’s why I love you. You can count on me, too.”

“I know. That’s why I’ll always love you.”

We reach over to each other and share a small kiss of gratitude.

“I am grateful for our enduring friendship and love,” I say in a mock-affirmation monotone.

Sierra throws water on me and laughs. “Smarty-pants.”

Siddhartha emits a small woof.

“Was that a bark?” asks Sierra. We laugh. “Let’s sail back in.”

We swing the sail around and head back to shore. “So, how’s Milton?” I ask.

“Great. It’s really nice having a different balance of energies.”

“What about women?”

“Right now I’m happy with Milton, but he doesn’t own my sexuality. I don’t have an either/or conflict about it…and neither does he.”

“Did you use affirmations to set it up that way?”

“Absolutely.” Sierra grins.

We dock the boat and all three of us pile out. Sierra collects her things. “I wish I could stay longer but I’ve got an edit session tonight. Walk me to my car?”

Sid and I accompany Sierra to her car, where she gives Sid a loving cuddle. “Goodbye, precious.” Then she offers me a deep hug. “Remember who you are,” says Sierra. “Which is anything you want to be. Now just keep moving.”

I watch her drive off as the setting sun casts colorful hues against the horizon. Sid and I stop at the mailbox. Inside is a letter from Victor. It’s handwritten—with meticulous penmanship, of course. With Sid by my side, I read the letter aloud for both of us.

“Dear Advisee Banks,

Great to hear from you. Glad the excavation is going well. Sid sounds like a loyal friend and I’m sure will help you reach your potential, which always takes precedence over accomplishing a goal. Loving another (even a puppy), requires risk and intimacy, but the sense of mutual belonging is well worth it. Dogs are masters at teaching us how to recognize happiness in the simplest things. My happiness today consisted of three green lights in a row, two great parking spaces, an awesome steam shower and making contributions to Mothers Against Drunk Driving and pharmaceutical research (as I’m hoping to abate a future comprised of cubicle rats as leaders—i.e., students on Ritalin). If you ask me, happiness is about NOT being annoyed. It’s as simple as having tea with a friend (who may never even drink the tea she orders). It’s about being the best you can be without judging yourself by the standards of others but by the standards you choose to define yourself. It’s about letting sunshine in and regrets out. Hope I don’t sound pedantic; just know it comes from a place of genuine caring. Please keep me posted on any and all future archaeological findings.

Sincerely,

Your Adviser Winston”

I look at Sid. “What do think, Sid?
My
Adviser Winston. Good thing I’m not the possessive type like Alyssa Ryan.” Siddhartha sits, staring at me. “Come on, let’s go visit the bar.”

I walk over to the Eagle’s Nest with Siddhartha in tow. Richard greets me with a free beer.

“How goes it?” he asks, seeming genuinely happy to see me.

“It goes. But I was wondering if I might take you up on your offer to bartend. The only thing is, I don’t know much about bartending.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he says. “You know how to pour?”

“Yes.”

“You know how to listen?”

“I’m told I could use some improvement in that area,” I say, remembering Victor’s channeled message to me back in my Los Angeles apartment.

“No problem, I’ll get you some Q-tips.”

He signs me up for duty and tells me Sid can come, too, as the bar mascot.

My routine now includes working every night. While Siddhartha plays the role of adorable-but-distracted hostess, Richard teaches me the art of tending bar. In the hour before the bar opens I receive lessons on the stocking of beer and liquor.

“What about fancy drinks like a Pink Squirrel?” I ask.

“You don’t have to worry about those. Most people around here like a good ale beer or fine glass of wine. All you have to be concerned with is listening. It’s really a caregiving experience,” he tells me while wiping the bar clean.

“What if they don’t want to talk?”

“Oh, believe me, they want to talk, it’s human instinct. And they want to be heard, which is where the art of paraphrasing comes in.”

“Paraphrasing?”

“Yep,” says Richard, topping off all the bottles of hard liquor. He points out,“I like to keep the whiskeys to the right and the vodkas to the left.”