Page 63 - WTP VOl.VII#5

“Was Mr. McGinn’s burial extravagant? Brass coffin fixtures? Extra deep hole?”
“Nothing fancy. Regular plot,” Albie said. “The indi- vidual costs are outrageous, though. Nearly two grand to start, base fee. From there, itemized expens- es add up beyond all reasonable belief. I remember when my Rosie died, Nelson and Sons charged three hundred bucks to drive her from Hospital Hill to the funeral home, two and a half miles. I don’t care how bad a gas mileage a hearse gets, that’s fucking crazy.”
“For certain,” Dominic said.
“Then, add insult to injury. The young rooster driving the hearse tells me, oh, it was great. We were already coming back from the crematorium in Biddeford when we got called to pick her up, he says,” Albie fumed. “Bragging to the bereaved, who’s also the paying customer, that he didn’t have to go both ways, up and down Hospital Hill. The punk. I wanted to say, hey, buddy, for three hundred bucks, you owe my Rosie half a ride. Put her in the back and spin her through town one last time, from the airport to Ted’s Fried Clams.”
“You should have told him that,” Dominic said. “I wanted to.”
“You should have,” Dominic repeated.
“Everything is a blur in those moments of making ar- rangements. They could’ve sold me a forty-seven pound hairball. You’re in shock. So I don’t know if I did say that or not,” Albie muttered.
Russ asked, “Is there any reason beyond gossip for bringing all this up?”
“The entire thing is embarrassing, and would’ve been embarrassing to Jackson McGinn, too. He was a friend of mine.”
“I know he was, dad.” “It’s not right.”
“Mr. McGinn is past caring, though, pop. He’s gone. But you’re going to get upset for him. You’re McGinn’s proxy?”
“No, but I think that what my friend’s family has come to is sad. And I don’t mean that being judgmen- tal, or to inject myself into other’s business.”
“Oh, of course not, Dom,” Albie said.
“Yeah, but that’s what my son’s implying,” Dominic complained.
“That isn’t what I was doing. Please. That’s not what I mean. God. I was only reacting to what you told me,” Russ said. “We’ve probably got enough of a battle ahead of us, so let’s not fight. Not even argue.”
“We’re nearly there, too,” Albie announced.
“The upshot of this information, which I been trying to impart without creating tension, is that this thing with Natalie McGinn, I forget her married name, made me think about what I need to do, since ain’t nobody growing younger.”
Albie nodded. “That is a fact,” he said.
“So, instead of some fun things this year, a couple of potential small trips, excursions, things we talked about, Russ, I made my funeral arrangement plans and started paying them off. Natalie’s trouble focused that issue for me. I don’t want my death hassling any- body but me.”
The subtext of his father’s message was easily dis- cerned. It wasn’t the entire truth that Dominic didn’t want to burden Russ; he also didn’t think that Russ could cope with that burden, especially its financial aspects. With no siblings to help, how could Russ make a three or four thousand dollar nut to bury his father properly when he lived paycheck-to-paycheck, hardly afloat with his own monthly expenses? The only way Dominic could absolutely prevent any po- tential begging on his son’s part was to take care of things himself, while he still could. Maybe Russ’ pre- vious statement about the late Jackson McGinn being beyond the reach of anything as mundane as embar- rassment was true, but if Dominic Walker couldn’t be sure that the grave offered that protection, he would only consent to die when his funereal account had been paid in full. It wasn’t like Russ could look his dad square in his eyes and tell him that he was wrong, either. No. In fact, Dominic was right on target. If driving the body down Hospital Hill to Nelson & Sons Funeral Home cost three hundred dollars, on top of
a nearly two thousand dollar base fee, along with the various and sundry itemized and incidental expenses, then Russ wouldn’t have the money.
“Like going to spring training, maybe. We’d men- tioned that,” Dominic said.
“Figured that was just talk anyway,” Russ said, sur- prised to realize how flat and defeated he sounded.
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