Read Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona for Free Online Page A

sell a nun a ticket to paradise. I’ll talk to you later. By the way, Rachel is fine but she still doesn’t want to fill out any college applications.”
    That’s another source of tension in my life. I can’t go into it now because I’m already in enough of a state.
    Fifteen minutes later I find myself in front of the Lang Funeral Home. It is an unremarkable two-story redbrick building but the mortician herself is a surprise from tip to tail. That is, unless you’ve met a Goth mortician before.
    Galena Lang, whom I’d guess to be in her mid-fifties, greets us wearing a midi-length black knit dress with a lace-up front, a brown corset belt, and Victorian ankle boots. Her eye shadow and nail varnish are charcoal gray, her skin is ivory, and her long blond hair is accented by indigo streaks.
    “So sorry for your loss,” she tells Maggie in a cigarette voice as she ushers us into her dimly lit office. We settle onto plump sofas upholstered with subdued plaid fabric. Boxes of Kleenex can be found on every horizontal surface. Framed hand-embroidered sayings about death hang on the walls. A man’s dying is more the survivors’ affair than his own – Thomas Mann. And they die an equal death: the idler and the man of mighty deeds – Homer . I would have to agree with both those sentiments.
    We accept hazelnut-flavored coffee and Galena settles in with a Black Cherry soda. “What a unique name you have,” Trixie says. “Your parents must be creative people.”
    “Not hardly. They named my brother Joe. Me they named after the township we lived in, about two hundred miles west of here.”
    “If you don’t mind my asking,” Shanelle says, “how did you get into this line of work?” Shanelle’s been hinting she might be interested in a change of career. From beauty queen to funeral director would be a leap but she does have the application of pancake makeup down pat.
    “It was my husband’s family business,” Galena tells us. “He’s gone now, too.”
    Somehow we’ve managed to circle back to the topic of Death. “Do you have any idea what you’d like for your sister?” Galena asks Maggie.
    “I was thinking something simple,” Maggie replies.
    “My most popular option is the two thousand dollar special. That includes a wake, with the deceased in a nice casket of your choosing. After that we switch to a cardboard box for cremation or burial.”
    “I’m not sure we need a wake,” Maggie says. “Or a fancy casket. We Lindvigs have always had simple tastes. How much would it be if we start with a cardboard box?”
    Galena scribbles on a pad of paper and produces a lower price.
    “Does that include embalming?” Maggie wants to know. “Because I don’t think we need embalming. That would slow things down, too, right?”
    “There’s always cremation,” Galena offers. “Would you consider that?”
    “That depends. How much does it cost and how soon can you do it?”
    Shanelle, Trixie, and I exchange a look. When Maggie said she wanted “simple,” I guess what she really meant was “cheap” and “fast.” Maybe she didn’t want my father to come to the funeral home because she didn’t want him to witness her so blatantly trying to hasten her sister’s sendoff.
    Galena produces a few more prices but Maggie remains dissatisfied. “Any way we could get it lower?”
    Before Maggie inquires about the Dumpster option, I pipe up. I’m not Ingrid Svendsen’s biggest fan but somehow I feel the need to prop up her side. “Wouldn’t a wake be customary for a prominent citizen like your sister, Maggie?”
    Maggie ponders that. “We are the daughters of a judge.”
    Shanelle picks up the thread. “Probably lots of folks will want to pay their respects.”
    “I don’t think that many will,” Maggie says. “My sister wasn’t easy to get along with. Plus I don’t want this to take forever. Waiting won’t make it any easier,” she repeats in what is rapidly becoming her catch line of the