Stay Sweet(16)

Mom reaches across the table and takes Amelia’s hand. “Meade Creamery isn’t your responsibility anymore, Amelia.”

It isn’t said to wound her. Amelia knows her mom is right. But it still hurts to hear—the definition of a painful truth.

*

The next morning, Molly’s obituary is in the paper.

MEADE, Molly Anne—died of natural causes on Wednesday. She was 88. The only and beloved daughter of the late James Meade and Erin (Kelly) Meade, sister to Liam Meade and Patrick Meade (both deceased).

Ms. Meade was a lifelong resident of Sand Lake and a graduate of North High School. During WWII, she sold her homemade ice cream at the Meade Dairy Farm stand. Her signature flavor, Home Sweet Home, was reportedly created when war rations depleted available sugar. After a fire destroyed the barn, her parents retired, and Ms. Meade took up operations. She relaunched the business as Meade Creamery and focused solely on the production of ice cream until her passing.

There are no known surviving relatives.

A memorial service will be held on Sunday at 2:00 PM at Holy Redeemer Catholic Church on Poplar Street in Sand Lake.





CHAPTER NINE


“YOU’RE GOING TO MOLLY’S FUNERAL this afternoon, aren’t you?”

“Why, hello and good morning to you, too, Cate,” Amelia groans. She’s lying on top of her neatly made bed in her bra and undies, a towel wrapped around her head.

Cate laughs hard into the phone. “I’m right, though, aren’t I?”

Amelia lets out a long exhale. Across the room are three outfit choices her mom said would be good choices for her bank interview on Tuesday. They also happen to work for a funeral, an irony not lost on Amelia. She rolls over onto her stomach and presses her face into her pillow. “If you want to know the truth, I’m trying to talk myself out of going, so it’s a good thing you called. You can tell me how silly I’m being.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because, like you said, I didn’t even know her,” Amelia admits.

“That’s true. Also, to that excellent point, I’d add that although you found her dead body, it doesn’t mean you must personally shepherd Molly Meade into the afterlife. Plus, you’ve never been to a funeral before. They aren’t romantic like you’re thinking. They’re mad boring.” The phone is muffled for a second as Cate switches from one ear to the other. “Actually, when I die, make sure and tell my mom I don’t want any of that stuff. I want a party. With expensive champagne. And dancing.”

“Sure thing. For the record, I don’t think funerals are romantic. I think they’re sad. But these are very sound reasons to skip it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Though I think you should go.”

“Why?”

“If you don’t, you’ll feel terrible. That’s just who you are, Amelia. You’re a good person.”

Amelia smiles for the first time that day. “So what are the chances I can convince you to come be a good person with me?”

“Somewhere in the range of impossible to totally impossible. I have to be at JumpZone for training. Apparently, there’s a whole protocol about how to disinfect an inflatable if a kid pees or pukes. Which, as the newest employee, I’m sure is a responsibility that will fall to me.”

“You could work at the bank with me!” Her mom said only one teller position was open, not two, but maybe if Amelia begged, she could get it approved.

“Ewww. I’d have to dress up. Also, you know I love your mom, but I can’t imagine working for her. It’s one thing when I show up late to your house for dinner, but if I’m late to work?” Cate starts cracking up. “Oh my God, Amelia. Imagine if your mom had to fire me. How awkward would that be?”

“It was worth a shot.”

“Hey, text me after the funeral. If the timing works, I’ll come pick you up.”

Amelia goes with the black scoop-neck bodysuit and pale pink pleated skirt and her gray suede ankle booties with the low heel because she plans to walk over to Holy Redeemer. It isn’t far, maybe a mile, and riding a bike feels unsuitable. She does a braid crown that wraps around her head and pins the end behind her ear with a bobby pin. Just a little makeup, tasteful, some blush and mascara and a glossed lip. On her way out the door, she doubles back, pulls a few tissues from the box in the foyer, and stuffs them into her purse. There’s no way she’s getting through this dry-eyed.

*

Holy Redeemer is a small church, but even with a handful of people in every pew, it still feels sparse, especially when compared to the normal Sunday mass crowd. There are the old people who probably come to anything church related, a few of the regular customers, Sand Lake’s mayor. The first pew has been left open for family. But Molly Meade doesn’t have any, so it’s empty.

Amelia looks around for any other stand girls who might have shown up. She thought about sending a text out, but she didn’t want to make the girls feel bad if they weren’t planning to go. And apparently, no one else was. She’s the youngest person there by far. She takes her seat in a row halfway between the altar and the door. People around her whisper.

“No one has seen her for so long. I wonder if it’ll be open casket.”

“I doubt the farmhouse is worth much.”