A Wedding To Die For

cramped so bad I doubled over. And then I was racing to the bathroom all the while reminding myself to never eat an entire jar of salsa in one sitting again.

An hour later, with half a bottle of Pepto swimming in my stomach, I entered the Forest Rest Funeral Home located off the interstate on the way to Galveston. The visitation was tonight and tomorrow as I’d guessed.

Nothing like the faint odor of embalming fluid mixed with the scent of lilies to up your nausea level. But maybe it was the hushed organ music that made me feel sick all over again. I hate organ music almost as much as I hate rap.

A woman dressed in a navy suit and wearing white gloves stood guard in the dimly lit lobby. Those gloves struck me as weird and creepy, like something out of that movie Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Not that I recall any gloves on Bette or Joan, but I got the same feeling from this woman as I had from sitting through that flick.

“Welcome to Forest Rest,” she said. “Are you here to pay your respects?”

No, I’m here with my mariachi band to liven things up, I thought. But I politely said, “The Beadford visitation?”

“Ah yes. This way.”

I followed her down a wide corridor and couldn’t help but notice they were doing a damn fine business at Forest Rest. Caskets and mourners in every room. But the Beadfords’ spot was far more crowded than the others I’d seen. An album-sized book sat on a table outside the entrance.

“Please sign before you go in,” she said, before she slipped away.

Sign-in books had brought me to this point, I thought, adding my signature to the page. Glad I wasn’t in charge of this one. Not here, thank you very much.

I scanned the room from the doorway looking for Graham, but my gaze was drawn to a stone-faced Megan in one corner. She was clinging to Travis and nodding at a steady parade of people offering their condolences. Probably the same people who had been celebrating her wedding not long ago.

Sylvia stood nearby, looking sad but composed and wearing a different black dress than the one she’d had on the other day. Her beauty-shop hair made her about six inches taller.

I’d thrown on a wrinkled brown linen dress from my suitcase—everything else the least bit funereal needed laundering—and since the temperature in this room had to be colder than the sixty degrees outside, goose bumps as big as hills rose on my arms. I started in Megan’s direction, but then Roxanne attacked from my flank.

She grabbed my sleeve and said, “Thank God you’re here. You have to stop her.” She pulled me by the elbow in the direction I’d just come from and I saw why. Courtney was on her way out.

Not wanting to cause a ruckus in this somber venue, I went along with Roxanne, whispering, “Why do I need to stop her?” I was hoping my quiet tone would offer her a clue as to the negative impact of acting like a crazy woman in a funeral home.

No such luck. Roxanne spoke loud enough for God and everybody to hear, saying, “She announced this is the most boring place she’s ever been and that she ‘wants some action.’ You understand her intent, don’t you?”

I was afraid I did, but though I wanted to tell Roxanne I was not a shrink or a drug counselor or a preacher, this girl was so determined to involve me in the family’s private business I knew she wouldn’t care how much I protested. I could vomit on Roxanne to get her to leave me alone, but since I’d already puked my guts out once tonight, there probably wasn’t enough left in me to make an impression.

So I went with her, and we caught up with Courtney in the lobby where the white-gloved woman was just opening one of the huge double doors to let her out.

“Hey, Courtney!” I called. “Could I talk to you for a minute before you go?”

“I’m out of here,” she yelled over her shoulder and left.

Roxanne gave me a shove in the middle of my back. “You cannot allow her to destroy her life.”

The greeter raised her eyebrows expectantly and looked at me as if to say, “Yes, do something.”

Why was I such a sucker for the needs of the wackos of the world? I had no good answer as I hurried after Courtney, Roxanne on my heels.

Courtney was hoofing it through the parking lot and I shouted, “I only want a minute of your time; then you can split.”

“Don’t tell her that. You’ll be enabling her,” Roxanne said.

Living with you is probably more enabling than anything I could ever do, I wanted to say. But since Courtney had halted, I hurried over to her rather than respond to Roxanne.

Courtney’s outfit, a blue jeans skirt and a baggy sweater, had me looking like I might get nominated for “Best Funeral Attire of the Year.”

Lips pursed, one hand on her hip, Courtney said, “What do you want?”

I tried for a sincere smile. “Must be a tough night cooped up with a bunch of strangers and a dead man.”

“What do you know about it?” When she swiped at her bangs—her hair was streaked with what looked like red and green food coloring since I’d last seen her—I noted that her hand was trembling. I didn’t think it was from the cool evening air.

“My daddy died last year,” I said, “and this was the part I hated the most. Shaking hands with people I hardly knew when all I wanted to do was get away from everyone. Even the word visitation makes me kind of sick.”

“Yeah. You don’t look so hot. So why don’t you go home and take care of your own self?”

“Hey, if you want to get wasted I can’t stop you,” I answered.

“Shrink your own head, lady.” She pulled a cigarette from her small shoulder bag and put it between her lips, then smirked at Roxanne, who had joined us. “Got a light, sis?”

“What demons possess you?” Roxanne said. “What—”

“Cut the drama,” Courtney said to her sister. “And Abby should get on down the road because she couldn’t care less about anything but her own agenda.”

“Nothing says an agenda can’t involve others,” I said quietly.

“The others being my cousin Megan?” she said.

“Why do you have to alienate everyone, Courtney? Abby has offered to help you,” Roxanne said.

I offered? Must have missed that part of the conversation.

Roxanne continued with her lecture. “Dad will be very disconcerted if he discovers you vacated the funeral home without offering Aunt Sylvia an explanation. And he will consider that a perfect excuse to continue this latest binge. I understand your behavior has been triggered by the horrendous events at the wedding. But if you keep on this path and upset Dad, we’ll be forced to contact those zealots in his AA group and—”

Courtney gave a short sarcastic laugh. “What in hell makes you think his plunge into another vat of whiskey would be triggered by anything but pure selfish need? Have you seen him offer one bit of support to anyone? Have you seen him show his face even for one second tonight?”

“I know you are not as malicious as you sound,” Roxanne said, blinking back tears. She turned to me. “She really isn’t like this all the time. It’s the drugs talking.”

Courtney made a disgusted face and said, “No, it’s me talking.”

“Um, I came here to speak to Graham,” I cut in. “Did you say he isn’t here?”

“Good listener,” Courtney said, rummaging in her purse. “Glad someone’s paying attention. Where are the fucking matches when you need one?”

“Do you know where I could find him?” I asked. “He called me and—”

“Check the resort bar. And if he’s not there, try the other watering holes in that cutesy little town, all two of them.” Courtney found the matches and lit her cigarette with shaky hands, then blew smoke in her sister’s face.

Roxanne went into a fit of coughing so obviously fake I almost laughed.

Courtney, though rude and tense from what was most likely the beginning of withdrawal, didn’t seem to need any intervention from me.

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll head to the hotel and find him.”

Roxanne’s forced coughing abruptly ceased. “But you mustn’t leave. You have to assist her.”

“She has to help herself,” I said.

I turned and walked to my car, leaving a distraught Roxanne still sputtering at her sister.

The drive to the resort and conference center on the bay took about fifteen minutes. On the way, I