Good Mourning

“Thank you for calling Good Mourning Mortuary. My name is Arin-Inez. How may I assist you today?” The calm, comforting voice flowed through the phone like honey—so smooth and sweet, the artificially intelligent voice box proved nearly impossible to detect.

Betty Masters blew her nose, wiped tears from her cheeks with trembling hands and replied, “Yes…my boyfriend just died. I’m not sure what to do.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” said Arin-Inez. “May I have your name please?”

“Betty—Elizabeth Masters.”

“May I call you Betty?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry for your loss, Betty. Good Mourning Mortuary is here to help you through this difficult time. May I have the name of the deceased, please?”

“Todd Bentley.” Betty howled in anguish and a fresh torrent of tears flooded her face. She slammed the cell phone on the coffee table, inhaled deeply and tried to regain her composure.

“I am sorry for your pain, Betty. May I ask how the deceased died, please?”

“He was asleep. He died in his sleep.”

“Thank you, Betty. Can you please confirm the location of the deceased?”

“He’s upstairs, in bed.”

“Thank you, Betty. Is the bed located at 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove?”

Betty’s brow furrowed. “Yes, but how did you know that?”

“Thank you, Betty. The GPS on the cell phone you are calling from cites this location. Good Mourning Mortuary is available to retrieve the deceased in exactly one hour and 13 minutes. For your convenience, the final arrangements may be made from 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove. May we send a death care unit out to further assist you, Betty?”

Betty frowned and spoke between sniffles. “A death care unit? Sure, I guess so.”

“Thank you, Betty. Good Mourning Mortuary will arrive at 365 Loftstrand Court in Oak Grove in exactly one hour and 12 minutes. Good-bye.”

****

4 Non Blondes shrieked the chorus of “What’s Up?” through Betty’s cell phone and shattered the silence, startling her. The caller ID said Good Mourning Mortuary.

She answered, “Betty speaking.”

“Hello, Betty. I am Alvin-Ivan of Good Mourning Mortuary, the death care unit sent to assist you. I am at your front door ready to serve you. Please do not end this call, Betty. We will communicate with one another through your cell phone.”

Puzzled, Betty gripped her phone in one hand and gently touched Todd’s cooling skin with the other hand. His pale, quiescent corpse was there, but he wasn’t. He was gone. Somewhere. He lay still and silent on his stomach with his right cheek planted firmly into his pillow, his eyes closed in an eternal slumber. She softly tousled Todd’s hair and planted a final good-bye kiss on his cheek before covering his naked body with the crumpled comforter and trotting down the stairs to answer the door.

Betty flung open the front door and saw no one. She looked down, gasped, and dropped her cell phone when she saw a clear, see-through casket hovering outside her doorway.

“Hello, Betty. I am Alvin-Ivan, a death care unit from Good Mourning Mortuary,” said a deep calm voice through her phone.

“Please lead me to the deceased.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Betty looked up from the casket and scanned the horizon outside her front door, looking for a human. All she saw was a white hearse parked perfectly in her driveway with the words Good Mourning Mortuary in the windows. No driver or physical person appeared anywhere.

Betty quickly retrieved her phone from the ground. “Where’s the person—the funeral person? Alvin-Ivan, where are you?” She yelled into her phone, tears springing to her eyes again. She inhaled deeply in a feeble effort to fight the panic that whirled within her.

“Do not be distressed, Betty. I will provide you with detailed instruction via your cell phone—through either voice or text—to help you prepare the final arrangements. Please lead me to the deceased.”

“Lead you to the—how do I lead a casket anywhere?” Betty looked closer at the transparent casket. A plush white mattress with a subtle cross hatch design and a large golden GM monogrammed in the middle lay on the bottom of the casket.  A rounded glass dome sprouted out of three-inch tall steel panels that lined each side of the casket, creating a transparent enclosure.

Betty’s phone pinged as a text came through. The text contained a link to a menu with the following choices: Sync AI to Cell Phone, Retrieve Remains, Prepare Remains, Prepare Documentation, Plan Funeral, Arrange Internment.

“I have sent you a text with my menu,” remarked Alvin-Ivan. “Please select Sync AI to Cell Phone, then walk to the precise location of the deceased. I will pair up with your cell phone and use GPS to follow you.”

Betty completed the instructions and walked into the house. She held the door open and Alvin-Ivan hovered over the threshold and into the foyer. Mouth ajar, Betty slammed the door shut and shouted dramatically, “Follow me!”

Alvin-Ivan floated behind Betty taking care not to bump into any walls or furniture. Betty climbed the stairs and Alvin-Ivan floated right behind her. When they reached the bedroom, Betty watched Alvin-Ivan hover over Todd.

“Please select ‘Retrieve Remains’ from the menu, Betty,” instructed Alvin-Ivan. Betty pressed the button on her phone. The bottom of the casket slid open like an elevator door and a strong vacuum sucked Todd up into the casket. The bottom of the casket shut quickly, shook heartily, and flipped Todd onto his back with his arms at his sides.

“Oh, my word—what just happened?” Betty whispered. “I think I need to call someone. This is just…I can’t…”

“Do not be distressed, Betty. I am here to assist you. Please select ‘Prepare Remains’ from the menu.”

Betty narrowed her eyes to more easily read the menu. She selected “Prepare Remains” and quickly swiped at the tears that pooled in her eyes. A series of questions popped up on her phone and she responded promptly.

“Will the deceased be casketed or cremated?” Cremated.

“Will you keep the cremated remains on the premises, inter them in a local cemetery, or scatter them in a lawful, pre-authorized destination? Scatter them.

“Are you ready to plan a funeral service?” Yes.

“Please key in the cell phone number of the deceased.” 693-845-5291.

“Based upon the cell phone records, address book, and browsing history obtained from the cell phone of the deceased, Good Mourning Mortuary recommends that an intimate memorial service be held in three days, rain or shine, on May 22,10:00 am at Forsythe Pier on Byson Bay. Celebrant Kendra Broderick will conduct the 15-minute commemoration. The Oak Grove Jazz Quartet will play a medley of 1950s showtunes for 15 minutes. An allotment of 20 minutes will be given for family and friends to share memories. The cremated remains of the deceased will be scattered into Byson Bay at approximately 10:50 am. A monarch butterfly release, in homage to the deceased’s beloved Mercury Monarch, will happen promptly thereafter. A reception will be held at Byson Bay Seafood House at 11:00 am with surf and turf and vegetarian entrees available. A cash bar will be provided. A preliminary guest list and a quote have been sent to you via text.”

Betty shook her head in disbelief. All of Todd’s favorite things were succinctly wrapped up in one short paragraph summarizing his memorial service, of all things. A link to the preliminary guest list popped up on her phone. She clicked through to find a curated list of 47 people complete with names, mailing addresses, phone numbers, and the individual’s relationship to Todd listed in alphabetical order.

Betty scanned the names on the list and recognized most of them as Todd’s coworkers and friends. She perused the list again, slowly, and stumbled upon two names that she did not recognize: Clothilde Bentley, wife of the deceased and Sorrel Bentley, daughter of the deceased.

“I knew this weirdo gadget would muck up,” muttered Betty.

“Hello? Helloooo?” She said aloud, gently knocking on the casket with her knuckles while griping into her cell phone. “There’s been some mistake. The guest list includes a wife and a daughter for Todd. He’s not married and he has no children. I’m his girlfriend. There’s an error on the guest list. You’ve got to fix this.”

“Thank you for taking the time to make your selections, Betty,” schmoozed Alvin-Ivan. “Your selections have been noted and a quote has been texted to your cell phone. However, there appears to be a glitch.”

“A glitch?” Betty felt the heat rise to her face. Her chest tightened.

Alvin-Ivan continued, “The deceased has been married for 18 years and has one child on record, aged 18. To proceed with the arrangements you have made, permission from the deceased’s next of kin is required.”

“Next of kin? I am his next of kin. His parents are dead and he has no siblings!” Betty yelled into her phone.

“For your convenience, Good Mourning Mortuary has texted the final arrangements you have selected to the wife of the deceased along with your contact information. The authorization of Clothilde Bentley is required to proceed with the final arrangements.”

The blood drained from Betty’s face then promptly filled back up again as her skin flushed crimson with anger. Her body trembled and she punched the casket with her fist. “Ouch!” She yelped trying to shake the sting out of the offending hand.

“Al—you’ve got the wrong information, buddy. I’ve been with Todd for 16 years. We’re not married. He’s never been married. And there are no children! Get me a human on the phone, right now!”

“Do not be distressed, Betty. I am here to assist you.” The calm inflection of Alvin-Ivan’s voice sounded like a mockery and grated Betty’s ears. Her hand trembled violently as she clicked the link that Alvin-Ivan texted to her. One click unleashed a floodgate of cold-blooded truth and harsh reality: Todd and Clothilde Bentley’s marriage license, a birth certificate for Sorrel Lennox Bentley, a link to photos of Todd and a very pregnant Clothilde walking down the aisle, dancing, eating, smashing wedding cake into each other’s faces.

Betty’s stomach dropped and coiled itself into twists and knots when she clicked on the link revealing photos of Sorrel. Todd in the delivery room holding a bundled baby with a shock of auburn curls sprouting from one end of the blanket. Todd giving Sorrel her first bath. Todd kissing baby Sorrel on her forehead. Betty nearly vomited when she viewed more recent photos of the three of them at Sorrel’s high school graduation, at a basketball game, at a Broadway show in New York City.

Betty threw the phone down on the ground and stomped on it. “No. No. No. This cannot be…this CANNOT BE!” She released a primal scream that rattled her bedroom windows. Todd lay quietly in his idling transparent cocoon—unbothered, undisturbed, completely at peace.

“I am sorry that you are in pain, Betty,” said Alvin-Ivan. “Death is a natural, often uncomfortable part of life. Good Mourning Mortuary is here to help you.”

“There is nothing good about this. Nothing! Get out. Cancel everything. And get out now!” Betty barked into her phone while eyeing the casket.

“I am sorry that you are distressed, Betty,” purred Alvin-Ivan.

“Unfortunately, the services of Good Mourning Mortuary are inexpungible.”

“Inex—what? What did you say? What are you saying?” Betty stood with one hand on her hip, wheezing from a lack of oxygen. She felt her self-control and any remnant of decency slip away from her with each gasp.

“You are welcome to modify your selections,” continued Alvin-Ivan, “But you may not cancel the agreement. Good Mourning Mortuary has an obligation to you and to the general public to safely and promptly handle the remains of the deceased.”

Betty picked up her cell phone and pressed, “End call.” Alvin-Ivan powered down and landed on the floor with a thud.

“That’s it. I’m done with this. And I’m done with you,” she said eyeing the casket as she addressed Todd. “You son of a witch. You’re married? You’ve been married for 18 years with a kid and you said nothing? How could you? Who are you? And who am I to have fallen for this crap…and for you? How did I not know?”

Blind rage accosted Betty like a thief, stealing every bit of common sense she had left. She shoved the casket out of the bedroom, pushed it down the hallway, and kicked it down the stairs. It banged noisily against the bannisters and rammed mercilessly into the front door—puncturing two large holes in the surrounding drywall. The glass casket remained intact and Todd remained unperturbed, cool as a cucumber.

Bobby McFerrin’s cheery “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” ring tone blasted out of Tom’s cell phone to remind him to take his anxiety medication. Curses poured from Betty’s mouth like lava as she ran back to the bedroom and began flipping pillows, opening drawers, and tearing up the room in a mad scramble to find his phone, to no avail. Five minutes later, the doorbell rang followed by a loud knock on the door.

“Oak Grove Police. Open up.” The knocking grew louder, more forceful.

“Oh, so now humans show up.” Betty muttered.

“Oak Grove Police Department. Open the door, Ms. Masters. We’re not going to ask you again.”

They know my name? She thought to herself. Why is that? I haven’t done anything wrong.

“The door is blocked officer,” Betty yelled loud enough so that she could be heard through the door.

“Well, unblock it, Ms. Masters. Now. Or we’re breaking this door down.”

Betty pulled the casket away from the door. She scowled as a muscle pinched in her back. She opened the door to see two uniformed police officers—one short and stubby, one tall and lanky, peering at her with solemn faces.

“Oak Grove Police. I’m Officer Fremont,” said the lanky officer. “This is Officer Hodge.” The short officer nodded a greeting.

“We’ve received a complaint from Good Mourning Mortuary. They say you’re failing to abide by the agreement you made to properly dispose of the remains of a…Todd Bentley.”

“Dispose of the remains? I’m planning a funeral. I lost my boyfriend who I just learned is someone else’s husband. I just found out after 16 years together…”

“Better late than never, ma’am,” asserted Officer Hodge.

Officer Fremont nudged Officer Hodge to be quiet and cleared his throat. “Sorry for your trouble, Ms. Masters. But we’re here to make sure that the body is retrieved from the home and stored in Good Mourning Mortuary until further notice. We’ve been informed that you are not the next of kin and do not presently have authority to make any decisions concerning the disposal of the deceased’s remains. We’ll take the deceased to Good Mourning Mortuary’s 9^th and Glendale location where he will be stored until his wife and daughter arrive.”

“No, you can’t just take him. He’s mine. I need to…I’ve already made plans. You can’t just take him. That’s inhumane!”

The officers strode into the foyer without further discussion, lifted each end of the casket and walked it out to the SUV they arrived in. The driverless white hearse parked in Betty’s driveway promptly backed out and followed behind the SUV.

Betty sunk to the floor. She had nothing left. No tears. No rage. No sadness. How could I not have known? She thought. This just doesn’t make sense. He said he didn’t believe in marriage. Did he stop believing in marriage before or after he was already joined together in holy matrimony?

She sifted through her memories of Todd like flour—shaking them up and watching them trickle down through her mind’s eye. She searched for holes in his stories or any unexplained absences and came up empty. She couldn’t even recall any gut checks that made her feel uneasy or unsure about him.

4 Non Blondes’ “What’s Up?”  broke up her reverie. Betty looked around for her phone, found it, and warily answered the call.

“Hello, Betty. This is Alvin-Ivan with Good Mourning Mortuary. I am calling to inform you that the deceased has arrived safely at our 9^th and Glendale location. The wife and daughter of the deceased have been notified of the death and of your preliminary preparations. They are scheduled to arrive later this evening to identify the body and to make the final arrangements. A link to a bill has been texted to your cell phone for the services rendered to date. The bill is due upon receipt. I have also included a list of grief counselors within the Oak Grove bereavement community that may be of service to you.

“Thank you for choosing Good Mourning Mortuary, Betty. Your opinion matters to us. Please stand by for a short customer satisfaction survey. And remember, a good mourning today gives birth to good mornings tomorrow. So, grieve well. And do let us know if we may be of further assistance to you and your family. Thank you. Good-bye.”

Betty hurled her cell phone into her yard through the front door which was still open. She got up, grabbed a shovel from the patio and beat her cell phone to smithereens. Without a word, she dug a hole in the ground and buried the fragments of her cell phone in it along with all of the links, texts, digital footprints, and photos of the Todd Bentley she knew and loved along with the Todd Bentley she’d never known, nor will never know, in her life.

The song “Good Morning” from the Singin’ In the Rain Broadway show faintly drifted out of the house. Another alarm from Todd’s phone. I’ve got to find that phone, thought Betty.

“See you in the mourning, Todd,” she said sadly. “I’ll see you in the mourning.”