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business? Please, don’t flatter yourself. I’m too busy with my own cases to have time to worry about yours. I took six pre-need calls myself this afternoon.”
    “Six? What are you doing over there? Have you marked down your cloisonné urns again?”
    Dad shook his head and checked his watch. “Listen, Doug, much as I’d love to discuss marketing strategies with you, I’m afraid I need to cut this call short. I have the Jackson service at seven, and my family and I are just finishing up dinner. If it’ll help you out, I can send over a courier for that paperwork tomorrow.” Dad shook his head as he placed the receiver back in its cradle. “I swear, that man thinks he is God’s gift to the grieving.” He turned back toward the table, stopping short at the expression on my face. “What?”
    “You’re getting business because of the YouTube videos. That’s the real reason you don’t want me to join The Grime, isn’t it?”
    “No, that’s … ” He shook his head and sat down. “That has nothing to do with it.”
    I raised my eyebrows. “Did the Grayson family ask for me?”
    “Yes.”
    “And the pre-needs?”
    “Yes, but … ” Dad sighed. He sounded tired as he continued. “It’s true, the videos are bringing in some calls, but that’s not what this is about. It’s about your schoolwork, your chorus practice, your future.”
    “My future or yours?”
    “Melanie.” Mom’s voice was sharp.
    We ate in silence for a while. I swirled my carrots, peas and rice around on my plate. Was I being unfair? On the one hand, Dad was always so worried about building his business. He’d worked for O’Hara & Sons years ago, until Mr. O’Hara started giving him a hard time for helping families plan a few too many “untraditional” services. Dad went into a lot of debt to open Martin’s, and he was determined to prove Mr. O’Hara wrong.
    On the other hand, even though he called my singing his “secret weapon”—it was the little extra thing that made our services stand out, the Godiva chocolate on the pillow of funeral service—Dad always insisted that school and chorus come first. As much as he hated to use my substitute, Glenda, he never hesitated to bring her in if I had a concert or a big test to study for.
    “Dad—”
    “Honey—”
    We both spoke up at the same time.
    “You go first,” I said.
    Dad set his knife and fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin and settled back into his chair. He spoke slowly and softly. “You have a gift, an incredible gift, but you are going to meet all kinds of people in this world, and some of them are going to want to exploit that gift for their own purposes. Those boys from The Grime seem like nice enough kids, but their priority is always going to be themselves—not you, not your future. Your mother and I love you very much, and we want to do what’s best for you.”
    My throat tightened. “I get what you’re saying, and I appreciate it. I do. But I am thinking of my future. This is a real opportunity for me. Please let me try.”
    Dad shook his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but—”
    The phone rang again, interrupting him.
    I stood and reached for the receiver. GP Productions? Probably a sales call.
    I took a deep breath and steadied my voice. “Hello, Martin residence. This is Melanie.”
    “Melanie! Just who I needed to speak to. Greg Phillips of GP Productions. Did your father mention I’d be calling?”
    I looked at my dad and shook my head. “No.”
    “Oh, well, that’s okay. He asked me to call and set up a time when we can do some filming. He wants to put together a video of you for his website.”
    “A video of me?” My eyes narrowed, and Dad nearly choked on his mouthful of rice. He face grew pale and he reached for the phone, but I pulled away.
    “Yes, a montage of you singing some of your most popular songs. He suggested maybe we could film it right there at the funeral—”
    Dad grabbed the phone out of my hand. He turned