The Final Farewell Read online

The U-Haul engine roared. Melonhead’s blue eyes filled with tears. He blinked hard, trying not to cry. I hoped I wasn’t that obvious.

  He held out his hand. “Good-bye, Kev.”

  My stomach felt hollow in spite of all the cake, punch, and nuts in it. I gripped Melonhead’s hand tight, hoping this would not be the last time I’d see my friend.

  “We don’t have to say good-bye. We’ll see each other again. Maybe we’ll be in the same mission.”

  We wrapped our arms around each other. His dark suit coat was stiff and warm from the sun. For an instant I sensed that Melonhead would be a powerful missionary. Then, like always, he said what I wished I’d said first.

  “I love you, Kevin.”

  I swallowed hard. “I love you too, Melonhead.”

  He patted my back, and we broke our brotherly embrace. We looked at each other’s tear-streaked faces and burst out laughing.

  “See you in the mission field, Elder Kirk.”

  “I’ll be watching for you, Elder Melon.”

  Chapter Two

  My parents and I had moved to Armadillo, Arkansas, when I was in the seventh grade. My mom had just graduated with a degree in mortuary science, and she and my father decided they wanted to start a family business. So they bought the Paramount Funeral Home, and from that moment on, death has been a part of my everyday life.

  I didn’t like it at first—living around dead people—but you get used to it. Before we moved to the Paramount, I’d never seen a corpse. But I learned quickly that dead bodies are nothing like what you see in horror movies. There has to be someone to take care of them until they’re buried or cremated—that’s why morticians are so important.

  I also learned that death really does scare some people—but not for the same reasons death is scary in the movies. Death is scary when you don’t know that there’s more to life than what we see, or when you don’t know that there is a reason why people have to die sooner or later. And it doesn’t seem to bother most of us that our bodies can’t live forever, though we often wish the people we love most could.

  I guess that’s the most important thing I learned at the Paramount: we think death is sad, but God doesn’t. It’s something He planned for us to experience. I learned this from Cletus McCulley, the dead fisherman who was our first customer at the Paramount, and from an old high priest named Herb Conrad, who will always be my best fishing buddy. I learned it when my grandma died during my freshman year of high school. I learned it from my church—The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—and from my early-morning seminary teacher, Sister Hooper.

  Knowing that death is inevitable doesn’t make it any less painful. When Grandma died, it still hurt. But it helps me to know that God has more in store for us—and the ones we love—after we die.

  Dani Carter was the first friend I made when my family moved to Armadillo. She quickly became my best friend, and—I have to admit—there’ve been times when I’ve wondered what it would be like to be married to her.

  I thought about it during Dr. Wallace and Cassiopeia’s wedding that late summer day. I thought about it again a few weeks later. We’d gone to the Cow Palace. It was the night before the first day of our senior year of high school, and I’d bought her a Lean Cow Pattie with low-fat cheese and a side salad with house dressing. As I watched her eat, I was certain there was no other girl who could steal my heart while nibbling on a Cow Pattie. And most recently I thought about it as she rode with me to school after our first day of early-morning seminary.

  But now I was sensing that something wasn’t right. Dani was changing. They were small changes, but they nagged at me. The comment she made over the summer about having a “real” wedding was just the beginning. That wasn’t like Dani at all. And another thing—before Melonhead moved, the three of us were inseparable. Now I felt more alone than I did when I first moved to Armadillo. With Melonhead gone, Dani and I were the only two Latter-day Saints at Sherman County High, and we needed to stick together. But once school started it was like she made up excuses to avoid spending time with me.

  We should have been closer than ever, but instead we were drifting apart. Or, to be more precise, Dani was drifting away from me. A good example of that was the day she got reprimanded for not following the dress code. I tried to warn her, but she wouldn’t listen.

  “Don’t you think your shorts are a bit . . . um . . . short?” I asked.

  Dani twirled so I could get the 360° view. “You like ’em?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Her face reddened—not with shame, but with anger. “I paid good money for these shorts. Everyone else is wearing them.”

  “Look around. No one else’s shorts are as short as yours.”

  “You just haven’t looked closely enough. My shorts aren’t as short as some of the others I’ve seen.”

  “They’re so short your underwear is showing.”

  “It’s supposed to,” Dani said, but she reached behind and tucked them into place anyway. Then all at once her eyes widened. “You think I’m too fat to wear these shorts, don’t you?”

  I walked her to a corner of the lobby where we could talk privately. “You look—” I stalled, not sure if I wanted to tell her what I was really thinking.

  Dani held her breath.

  “It’s really awkward to say. I mean, you’re a girl.”

  Dani crossed her arms and glared at me. “Tell me. I can take it.”

  “It’s hard not to stare at you.” I spoke as quickly as I could, hoping to get it over with. “And I don’t like the way other guys are staring at you. It’s like you’re advertising.” I brushed my hand through my short dark hair. “I think when I look at you, I should see you and not your body.”

  Right then Hunter Rockwell, the senior class jock and number one girl-chaser, decided to interrupt our conversation.

  “Hey there, cutie.” He nudged Dani with his elbow. “Nice shorts.”

  Dani sneered at me. “I’m glad somebody likes them.”

  Hunter proceeded to mesmerize Dani with his stories about how he’d broken three fingers at football camp and had been voted Mr. Sherman County Football three years in a row. When I couldn’t stomach any more, I slipped away to search for my first period class. I passed Mr. Schweitzer, the assistant principal. He was headed for the lobby.

  The next time I saw Dani was in fourth hour trig. She still had on her Sherman County Seniors Rule T-shirt. But she also had on a pair of baggy gray sweats instead of her shorts.

  “Schweitzer caught me. Are you happy now?” She walked past my desk and slumped into her seat.

  I didn’t turn around. I figured if she saw me grinning, it would only make her madder.

  School wasn’t the only challenge. Early-morning seminary started a week after school began, and even on the first day of class, Dani was downright belligerent.

  Sister Hooper was surprised by Dani’s change in behavior, but she was patient with her during the first week of seminary. By the second week, she was visibly frustrated. That’s because Dani was doing homework, painting her nails, plucking her eyebrows, and reading Cosmo Girl during class.

  We were on our third week of seminary and had started section six of the Doctrine and Covenants the day Dani decided to give herself a pedicure. Sister Hooper tried to pretend she could carry on with the lesson. But after Dani finished the second coat of Richly Red on her left toes. Sister Hooper lost it.

  “Danielle Carter, I’ve had enough.” Sister Hooper turned and erased everything she’d written on the whiteboard. “I’ve tried being nice to you. I’ve tried to overlook your behavior. But painting your toenails in class is too much.” She stepped into her kitchen and came back in the room with her cordless phone. “I’m calling your mother.”

  Dani shrugged her shoulders and brushed more Richly Red on her right toes.

  Fifteen minutes later, Sister Carter showed up. “I’ll take Dani to school this morning,” she said to me.

  “I don’t mind
taking her.”

  Sister Carter watched Dani blow across the wet nail polish. “No, I believe we need time to talk.”

  When seminary was over, I left Sister Hooper’s house and drove to school. At lunch, I waited for Dani, but she never showed. When I ran into Tiff Beeny, one of Dani’s friends, I asked if she’d seen her. Tiff said Dani hadn’t attended any of her classes that day.

  The next morning Dani acted like her old self. She read aloud the passages Sister Hooper asked her to, and she didn’t appear to be bored or distracted. When class was over, she tossed her backpack in the back of the S-10, and we took off for school.

  “I missed you at school yesterday,” I told her. “I looked for you all day.”

  “I spent the day with my mom.”

  When we got to school, she jumped out of the truck and ran off, leaving me alone in the parking lot. Later that morning I saw Hunter Rockwell in the hall. A group of girls hovered around him like flies around a dinner plate. Dani was walking several steps behind Hunter. She was carrying his books.

  What was wrong with her?

  I fumed the rest of the day. When I got home I parked the S-10 in the hearse garage. I got out, slammed the truck door, and kicked the front tire.

  Granddad was building shelves to hang on the garage walls. “Better be nice to the old Chevy. She’s on her last legs. She needs you to fix her, not kick her when she’s down.”

  “At least I can fix the truck,” I said. “Girls don’t want your help. They get in a mess, and then when you try to help them fix their problems, it makes ’em mad.”

  Granddad measured the plank of wood and marked it. “I hate to tell you this, but I’m seventy and I still haven’t got women figured out.” Then he measured the wood and marked it again.

  I stuffed my hands in my pockets. “They’re so frustrating. They know what’s right, yet they’ll do what’s wrong to get what they want—even when what they want isn’t right for them.”

  Granddad chuckled. “You’re talking about people in general—not just girls.” He picked up the power saw and motioned for me to hold the board. When I had a firm grip on it, he set the saw on the mark and turned it on. The metal blade rang as it sliced through the board. When the severed end hit the concrete floor, he turned off the saw and set it down.

  “Look,” I insisted, “I know the difference between right and wrong. I’m not going to run around half naked just to get a girl to look at me. I’m not going to do whatever a girl wants just to get her to like me.”

  Granddad laid another board on the sawhorses and measured it twice. “Sometimes when we want something badly enough, we’ll do foolish things to get it. That goes for men as well as women, so don’t get the idea you’re too smart to be stupid.”

  “But she’s old enough to know better.”

  “Age doesn’t matter. Even old geezers like me who should know better can get messed up.” He nodded to the end of the board, and I held it while he sawed.

  Granddad finished cutting the board. Then Marshall came in and handed me a ten. “I need you to run to Woods. Marcy’s dying for a malt.”

  “What about the O’Connell visitation? Doesn’t Mom need my help?”

  “I’ll take your place as greeter. I tried to convince Marcy to wait. I told her I’d get her a malt tonight, but you can’t argue with a pregnant woman.”

  “I don’t think you can argue with any woman, period.” I took the ten and got back in the truck.

  Woods Pharmacy was an old-timey drugstore and soda fountain in the heart of historic downtown Armadillo, sandwiched between the offices of the Armadillo Courier and Higgenbotham’s Antiques and What-Nots. Besides all the modern drugstore items, Woods also housed a small museum of medicines old people used “back in the day” as Granddad liked to say—stuff like Carter’s Little Liver Pills and antique bottles of castor oil.

  The soda fountain was similar to the ones you see in the old black-and-white movies. You could sit on a barstool at the counter and watch the soda jerks whip up your favorite concoction. Metal tables for two invited visitors to stop and share a root beer float. A wrought iron staircase spiraled up to the roof, where customers could sit and enjoy a hot fudge sundae under the stars.

  When I got to Woods, the pharmacy half of the store was busy. The only customers at the soda fountain were an elderly gentleman and his wife. They were sitting at a corner table, conversing over a banana split.

  I sat down at the counter and rang the bell. Dani emerged from the back room.

  “I didn’t know you were working tonight. I thought you were only going to work through the summer.”

  “Mr. Woods said he could use me if I was willing to work. He doesn’t make me work too late at night. And I like having the extra money.”

  I laid the ten on the counter. “Marshall sent me to pick up a malt for Marcy.”

  After Dani gave me the change, she poured the ingredients for the malt in the mixer.

  “You look cute in your uniform.” I wanted to say that at least it covered her body, but I didn’t.

  “Thanks. This is to-go, right?” She turned on the mixer.

  I nodded.

  She turned it off and poured the malt into a Styrofoam cup. “Whipped cream?”

  I nodded again, and Dani squirted a huge dollop on top.

  I pointed to the jar of maraschino cherries on the counter. “Marcy likes those.”

  Dani positioned the cherry on top of the whipped cream and put a domed plastic lid on the cup. “How’s she feeling?”

  “Her cravings are driving Marshall up the wall. Last week she made him drive to Gleason for pickled bologna.”

  Dani scrunched her face in disgust. “I’d be driving to get away from pickled bologna, not driving somewhere to buy it.”

  I leaned onto the counter. Dani and I were having an easy conversation and enjoying each other’s company. It was just like old times.

  Dani pulled up a stool and sat down across from me. “So are you going to the homecoming game?”

  “I’m not into football. I like baseball better.”

  Dani picked up a straw, tore the paper off, and twirled it between her fingers. “I’d like to go.” Her voice was low and soft, but she didn’t look me in the eyes. “I think Mr. Woods would let me off work that night.”

  My chest grew warm and my heartbeat quickened. I studied Dani’s face. I knew every eyelash and every freckle, the curve of her jaw and how the arch of one eyebrow was slightly higher than the other.

  The only excuse I can give for what I said next is that I was under her influence. I loved her and I wanted her to be happy. “I know it’s kind of early to ask—homecoming’s not until October—”

  Dani gasped and her face flushed.

  I swallowed hard. “Um, I’d like to take you to homecoming—that is, if you’d let me.”

  Dani’s mouth burst into a humongous smile. To me, it was like the heavens had opened.

  “You’d take me?” she asked as if my proposal was too good to be true.

  “Of course.”

  “Oh Kevin, you’re wonderful!” She leaned over the counter and flung her arms around my neck.

  I put my arms around her too and savored the moment. The elderly couple behind us clapped their congratulations.

  She released me, but the scent of her perfume remained on my skin. I took a deep breath.

  “Thanks for asking me,” Dani said.

  I took my keys from my pocket. “I’d better get this malt to Marcy before it melts.”

  “We’ll have a great time at the dance. I promise.”

  “I always have a great time when I’m with you.

  Dani’s cheeks glowed in response.

  I had to watch the speedometer on the way home. My foot was heavy on the gas, and I kept going over the speed limit. I couldn’t get Dani—or the joy of feeling her arms around me—off my mind.

  Chapter Three

  After I asked Dani to the homecoming dance, she couldn’t sto
p talking about it. Every morning at seminary, she quizzed me about what I was going to wear and what I thought she should wear. On the way to school she talked about corsages. And on Sundays while we were at church, she talked about where we’d go out to eat and how we’d pose for our photos.

  It only took a few days of this for me to get tired of hearing about what we were going to wear, eat, do, etc. But I was determined not to let Dani know that. More than anything, I wanted her to be happy. I didn’t care if she ever quit talking about homecoming. If going to a homecoming dance was all Dani needed to be happy, I was going to make sure she got there and that every dream she had for that night would come true.

  A couple of weeks before homecoming, I got an envelope in the mail from Dr. Wallace. Inside was an application for Nelson–Barrett University, along with a sticky note that said,

  Looking forward to seeing you next fall.

  Please list me as one of your references.

  Dr. A. L. W.

  P.S. Do not mark Wedgewood Hall as your housing choice. The plumbing is insufficient; the toilets have a reputation for overflowing.

  So Dr. Wallace wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to help me get into Nelson–Barrett U. I decided right then I needed to get serious about college.

  But what about a mission?

  I put the application back in the envelope, not sure what I should do.

  I sat on the bed and flipped the envelope over and over in my hands. I didn’t like feeling confused. I glanced up at my calendar on the wall.

  The ACT was coming up in a few days, so I decided to do some online practice tests to take my mind off my dilemma. I’d just sat down at the computer when I heard the phone ring. Mom came in a few minutes later, her eyes as big as Moon Pies. “Do you know where your father is?”

  “He’s in the chapel, working on the casket stand.”

  Next thing I knew, Mom was gone. I heard her running down the stairs; it sounded like she was taking the steps two at a time. All was quiet for a while after that.