Season 2, Episode 7: Four Conversations At A Funeral

Episodes May 21, 2026

"Look at that pretty blonde. You make me want to get my house cleaned, Amber!"

"You already get your house cleaned, honey," she said, giving me the side-eye for my corny heckling.

"Yes, I know," I said. "But I don't think I've rated a bombshell pin-up girl in a French maid outfit doing it yet, though."

"Keep it up and I'll make you wear one. And you really shouldn't be making fun of me, y'know."

"No? How come?"

"Because this look isn't my choice. This makeup and this hair is Paula's doing. She's making us look like this."

"Awwww. It's so terrible that you have to pull off a cross between Pamela Anderson and Jayne Mansfield."

"Oh, stop it. Here - let me fix your tie for you. I don't like how you never tie it straight. And why are you getting dressed so early? That funeral isn't until later this morning, right?"

"Because I'm going to see Virgil Smith at his office before the funeral."

"Ooooh. Big business!"

"Yeah. Maybe he'll pay us more and I can buy you out of your contract."

"Nah. Don't do that. I'm actually learning so much on this job that I think it's good for me. Y'know, life experiences!"

"Well, that's a change. Wait, are you cold again?"

"A little. It's fine."

"You're shivering, Darling Amber.'"

"Hush, Darling Oscar," she retorted. "OK, what do you want for dinner?"

"Amber, don't worry about it. I'm very possibly going to be late coming home."

"Fine. Suit yourself. And tell Erica, ummm..."

"Condolences?"

"Yeah. OK, I gotta go. Don't eat junk food!"

Then she grabbed her stuff and she was gone.

And shortly thereafter, so was I - to that funeral, and Erica's world. Where regardless of our history, I was mostly a stranger.

-----------------------------------

I was late getting to the cemetery for the burial, but Erica had texted me that what she was really hoping for was my attendance at the reception.

Still, I wanted to at least be there at the graveside thing. To let her know I cared enough to show my face.

For what? That was the question. And how appropriate were any of those thoughts when she was literally burying her husband, anyway?

I parked my truck and was walking up to Jim Stafford's grave when I saw a familiar face.

"OK, it's one thing to stalk me at a gas station. But at a funeral? Lady, you really need to knock it down a little."

"You're funny. What are you doing here?"

I looked over at the gathering at the grave and there was Erica. And she had seen me and was waving. I waved back.

Then I looked back to Michelle.

"Old friends with the widow." I said. "Moral support and so on. By the way, you look very fetching."

"Yeah? Thanks. Although I don't know if you can say that at a funeral."

"OK. Can I compliment you on your hat then? Looks like Erica's got one too."

"Hers has a veil. Mine doesn't."

"Ahhh. So what are you doing here, anyway?"

"My boyfriend, Chad? The one who's the reason I'm not actually talking to you? He works for Stafford Oil. He let me out here and he's parking. He'll literally be here any second."

"I see. So I can't actually be talking to you right now."

"No. You can't."

"Fine, I'm not. One final thing. How's business?"

"It's... rough economy. First thing they cut is marketing."

"Nah. The FIRST thing they cut is their management consultant. THEN they cut their marketing."

She laughed.

"Touche," she said, looking over my shoulder. "Hey, Oscar?"

"Yes, Michelle?"

"It was nice not talking to you."

I laughed. "That's your not-subtle way of running me off, huh?"

She nodded. I smiled and started up the hill. I really wanted to look back to get a look at Chad, whom I gathered was right behind me, but I figured that would be the wrong move.

At the grave, a crowd had gathered around the family. I didn't really want to fight through that to say hello to Erica. She already knew I was there; I'd see her in time.

What I didn't expect was that Michael, her oldest son, would extricate himself from that crowd and make his way over to me as I approached. As I said before, I knew him a little. But not quite THAT well.

"Hey, Oscar," he said, reaching out to shake my hand.

"Hey, Mike," I responded, returning the handshake. "Really sorry for your loss."

"Thanks. It's a tough one. But y'know, it's life, right?"

"For sure. How are you holding up?"

"Kinda swimming. Everything has changed, and I'm definitely not prepared for it. Taking over the company... I feel like I need a sherpa. And the guy who's always been that for me is the one who's gone."

"I get it," I said. "Actually, I'm lying. I don't. It's a miracle, but I've still got my dad. So I can barely imagine what you're going through."

"I appreciate that. Listen - this might be the wrong thing to say, but on behalf of all of us kids, we know that Mom has always had a thing for you. It was this strange factor in our house growing up, all right?"

"Yeesh. I didn't know."

"Look, it's fine. What I'm driving at is that with Dad gone, if you two end up becoming part of each other's lives, you've got our blessing."

I nodded. "I appreciate you saying that, Mike," I said.

"And also, what would you say to a round at the club one day next week?"

"Oh, you want to embarrass me on the course again?"

"Yeah. Definitely. And also to pick your brain about some business things."

"Sure, Mike," I said. "Whatever you need."

He nodded, shook my hand again and then turned back to the crowd, and I took a place in the circle next to the grave as the ceremony was about to begin.

I looked across the grave and there was Michelle, with the boyfriend. Chad? He looked like a Chad. Actually, he looked like a gorilla named Chad.

They were looking at me. Then Chad was looking at her. And it was clear that while he was exercising decorum about it, he was ripping her a brand new asshole for talking to me.

"Sure looks like you started some trouble," came a voice next to me.

"What's that?" I said.

"What, you figure you'd break that girl up with her boyfriend? At a funeral?"

"Peyton, can you please not be a bitch right now? It's a funeral."

"Oh, shut up. You're gonna get yourself killed, you know. Chad is the wrong guy to run afoul of."

"Why? What's the story with him? And how would you know?"

She just gave me a perturbed look.

"Ohhhh, I get it," I said. "He's one of your old conquests, isn't he?"

"Oh my God. You're terrible."

"Right back atcha."

"Anyway, he was a linebacker in college somewhere. Oklahoma State, or something."

"Probably a defensive end rather than a linebacker."

"And he's like a field manager for Stafford Oil. Mostly he works in West Texas. Like seven days on and seven days off. He's a big drinker, he gets in bar fights, he's a cray-cray boyfriend. Like super possessive and paranoid. You really picked a winner with her."

"Can you blame me? Look at her."

"Seriously, Oscar? It's a funeral."

"Yeah, I know. And you've got the uniform hat to prove it. You, Michelle, and the widow. And like three other women here. Did y'all do a phone tree or something?"

"No. And besides, you shouldn't hit on women at a funeral. You're not Will Ferrell in that movie."

"What about you? Why are you even here if it's not to do some prospecting? Funeral crasher, Museum Grade. That's you."

"Oh my God. You can't talk to me that way."

"All we do is talk to each other that way. You just made yourself my date for this like it was the most natural thing in the world, Peyton. You're consummate pro. A virtuoso."

"If I get hit on at a funeral by some horny guy, it's not my fault."

I laughed.

"Well, I can't beat that logic."

Finally, the ceremony began and my time conversing/arguing with Peyton was over. So was my time serving as the source of conflict between Michelle and Chad The Gorilla.

I looked over at Erica. She was elegant, even in grief. And I caught her stealing a glance at me as the pastor switched from Psalms to Thessalonians.

Then, mercifully, it was over.

The mourners started leaving, and there was a crush of people mobbing the family again. I hung back, again; Michael might have said the kids were happy if Erica and I rekindled a relationship, but who knew what anybody else might say if I appeared to be too friendly with her?

Finally, as the last of the business associates and others paid their respects and she'd alternatively thanked them for coming or reiterated an invitation to the reception at the house, Erica strode over to me.

"Hey, Peyton," she said. "I'm so glad you came. Thank you."

"Of course, honey," said Peyton. "You know I couldn't let you go through this without being there for you."

"You're very sweet," Erica said. "Can I catch up with you at the reception?"

"Oh, sure," said Peyton.

And then she realized, because Erica and I were both looking at her, that she was being sent away.

"I guess, umm, I'll see y'all there."

And I gave her back her purse, which she had politely demanded I hold for her.

Thus dismissed, Peyton hustled away to join the herd headed for the free food and booze, and the attendant sexual marketplace, at the reception.

But Erica was right in front of me. And she put her hand on my chest and sighed.

I gave her the warmest smile I could. And as wrecked as she was, she still returned it.

It was a hell of a smile.

“I like your brooch," I said. A black swan? It suits you.”

She looked down at it, lightly fingering it from inside those gloves.

“Jim gave it to me on our 20th," she said. "He told me I was his black swan—the rare, beautiful thing he never expected that changed his whole life. Swans mate for life, he said. I thought it was the most romantic thing I’d ever heard.

“But now it feels like a promise he’s breaking.”

“He’s not breaking it," I said. "He just… ran out of time.”