Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Um, sure. You can shed tears that she is gone. Or you can smile because she has lived,” I start, reciting the poem Viv wanted me to read.
My voice echoes through the cavernous Hall of Grace, Dad's massive church. The crew is placing the last of the stone urns along the center aisle, while the florist fills them with bright splashes of colorful orchids. It looks more like a wedding than a funeral if you ask me, but nobody did. At the top of the marble stairs up to the stage are stands with red silk ribbons, embroidered with crosses and other iconography. A fan-generated breeze makes them flutter. In the center just before the steps is a granite plinth where they’ll place the casket.
Dad prances around, his hawkish eyes taking in every detail and judging it critically. “People are going to tune out when you start reading that. Let’s have the band do an extra song.”
Over in the mixing booth, Grayson nods. There's an actual video and lighting guy, but Dad and Grayson always have the last call on how things look. There are network TV stations with less production value than here.
I clutch my eulogy notes tighter, crumpling them up in my fist. “This was what Vivian wanted. I’ll make sure to say that she picked it out. You know how much everyone loved her.”
Dad sighs. “Fine, but don’t drag it out.”
I don’t know where the line between pastor and TV host ends with Dad sometimes. When your entire job and lifestyle hinges on donations from a congregation that's both physical and online, I’m not sure there is one.
Huge video screens above and to the sides of the stage make sure everyone's able to take in Dad's made-up visage while he speaks, but right now there's a slideshow of poignant pictures of Vivian playing. Not a single one includes Crash. The choir is warming up to the side, their uniforms starched and decorated with black ribbons.
Speaking in front of everyone is just as terrifying each time, but Vivian deserves at least one person who cared for her to say something. Dad loved that she was a good pastor’s wife, active in the community and beautiful, but I don’t know what he thought about her as a human being. As the woman who loved birds and watching cringey reality TV with me. The one who sometimes still did searches on her son’s name in case something happened to him.
Ugh, I feel bad thinking stuff like this right before her funeral, but losing her feels like losing the one thing that made life bearable here.
I learned long ago to obey my father. It's not pretty when he gets angry. Vivian calmed him like no one else could, but now… it's just me.
“Let me just touch you up, hun,” Titania, Dad’s makeup artist, says as she refreshes my brown waves into bouncy curls.
“Thanks.”
She smiles and rushes off as we get in position for things to start. I sit off to the side on the stage with Grayson and the Harleys. Pastor Harley was the Hall of Grace’s second pastor for years until Grayson wormed his way in with promises of taking Dad to the next level, whatever that means.
I take a deep breath and let myself go numb as the doors open and the congregation floods in. Ushers guide them to their seats. It used to be free to attend, but now there are different zones, and only the biggest donors sit in the good seats. The back five rows are the only ones open to anyone now. Everyone else can watch from the overflow auditorium or go home and see one of the live broadcasts. This isn’t a cheap operation, and constant expansions cost money, but somehow there’s more than ever. Last month Dad added a new car to that Porsche collection Crash asked about.
And at twenty-two, I don’t even have a bank account. I’ve dreamed of breaking away my whole life, but I don't have the faintest idea how. He controls everything.
Crash never called back so I guess he’s not coming. It's probably for the best. I can't even imagine what kind of mess that would be. He sounded so angry. Not that I blame him. He was always like the wind, wild and unpredictable. I’ve got no idea what he's doing with himself now, but if the phone call was any sign, he’s still doing his best to give the world a big middle finger.
When the Hall is full, and the cameras roll, the show begins. Floodlights bathe us in a dreamy, halo-like glow while Amazing Grace echoes off the walls. The harmonies of the choir soar and dip like an eagle riding the wind currents. Even knowing how all this works behind the scenes, I still smile when the music swells. There’s something magical about the way it fills the hall, and I know it was Viv’s favorite part of the services.