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.”
