Page 9 of Bless This Hot Mess

She straightened her mother’s blazer, rolled her shoulders back, took one last look at her reflection in the water–small, dark, a little smudged, but still standing–and turned back toward her town.

There was a funeral to get ready for. And after that, a radio station that needed to keep the lights on. And after that? Well. Maybe God and the Bermuda Triangle weren’t done with her yet.

LISTEN toLIGHTHOUSE KEEPERS’ DAUGHTER

Emma-Lou wasn’t sure how she’d survived that meeting with Stanford Weinus, but now, standing in the receiving line at her parents’ funeral, she wondered if this wasn’t an even greater test.

The air in the funeral home was thick with the scent of lilies, mingled with the soft murmurs of mourners offering their condolences. The soft notes ofNearer My God to Theefloated through the chapel, though it was hard to call them soft with Rebekkah and Japheth performing it. Both singers were locked in a fierce competition of vocal runs, embellishing the hymn as if they were auditioning for a solo in the church choir, or a solo in heaven itself. If Rebekkah’s large pink fur and feather hat didn’t draw attention, their matching bedazzled denim outfits certainly did, adding to the surrealness of it all as they swayed in time to their singing, refracting the fluorescent overhead lights like disco balls. If Rebekkah’s shot at stardom could happen at this funeral, she wouldn’t have the moment immortalized by the paparazzi with her wearing a simple shirt dress and hair scrunchie.

Emma-Lou stood stiffly at the head of the receiving line; her hands clasped in front of her as a long procession of mourners offered their condolences. To her left was Suwarna, the glue of WWJD’s staff and voice of reason, petite in stature but full of quiet confidence. Suwarna’s dark hair was pulled back in a neat bun, and her ever-observant eyes scanned the room with the alertness of the President’s chief of staff; ready to discreetly whisper the name of the next guest in line along with the exact dessert square they’d brought and a promise to return the green glassware it was delivered on; to herexhausted, no longer interim now that her parents were about to be interred, new CEO.

On Emma-Lou’s right was Carrington, the office fashionista. Today, Carrington had traded in their usual avant-garde looks for something more subtle, despite sporting an asymmetrical haircut sharp enough to cut glass. The Gucci was vintage but still managed to scream, ‘look at me’. Carrington stood with their arms folded, sharp eyes flicking between guests, taking in every detail.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Emma-Lou,” an elderly funeral guest purred, gripping Emma-Lou’s hand. “It’s just… heartbreaking and a loss for all of us.”

“Thank you so much for coming,” Emma-Lou replied automatically, her smile tight and practiced. “Big Daddy always said you made the very best Christmas fruit cake. Don’t be a stranger now.”

As the guest moved on, Carrington leaned in with a raised brow, “You’re holding up well, Emma-Lou.”

“I’m not going to fall apart at the seams,” Emma-Lou said, straightening her spine, though it was clear she was holding herself together by sheer willpower. “Even if that’s exactly what I feel like doing. I can’t. All these people came to honour Big Daddy and Mamma and…”

“And you’re making them proud right now,” Suwarna cut in, her voice gentle but firm. “They might be stamping their hooves and galloping across a field of poppies or wiggling their tadpole tails for the very first time right now.”

Carrington and Emma-Lou’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Do Christians believe in reincarnation?” Suwarna asked to clarify.

“I don’t think so, Suwarna.” Emma-Lou gave her a sidelong glance, “We’ve got our fingers crossed for heaven.”

Carrington smirked, tossing their hair, “Your parents are most likely in the VIP line at the pearly gates. St. Peter is probably looking at their names on the guest list right now.”

“Thank you, Carrington,” Emma-Lou replied, giving their arm a squeeze.

Carrington sniffed the air, their nose wrinkling slightly, “Speaking of VIPs, I can smell Rino Ferrari’s cologne. It’s like a wall of Italian marble pushing the air out of the room.”

Suwarna perked up, standing a little straighter. “I wouldn’t mind that granite god pushing me up against a wall.”

Emma-Lou turned to her, wide-eyed. “What?”

Suwarna shrugged innocently, “Come on, you two. Rino Ferrari is the handsomest man in Greater Napanee. He’s incredibly rich, irresistibly swarthy, and he smells expensive.”

Carrington raised a skeptical brow. “So, you like him?”

“We all like him, Carrington,” Suwarna replied with a smirk. “You can play coy, but you didn’t wear your vintage Gucci today by accident.”

Carrington gave a nonchalant shrug, “He would be acceptable date material.”

Suwarna grinned, “Uh-huh. Finally, Carrington tells the truth.”

The sound of well-made Italian shoes clicked against the chapel floor, and the trio turned to see Rino Ferrari approaching. He moved with the smooth confidence of a man who knew his charm was irresistible, his olive skin glowing with a natural tan honestly earned by charming clients in the car dealership parking lot. His dark hair was perfectly tousled, and the sharp lines of his suit cut through the air like he was walking onto a runway, not into a funeral.

“Suwarna. Carrington.” His voice was warm, laced with a thick Italian accent that made even the most mundane words sound melodic. “Good evening. You both look… lovely.”

His eyes landed on Emma-Lou, and he took her hand in both of his. “Emma-Lou,Bella! I’m so sorry for your loss. I still can’t get over it. Lost in the Bermuda Triangle…” He shook his head in disbelief. “My parents are beside themselves. They can’t believe the way they found the yacht, just floating there like nothing had happened. Except… well… your parents vanished! The ice not even melted in their caipirinhas. I’m just so sorry, Emma-Lou. So strange, so mysterious, and so,sosad.”

“Thank you, Rino,” Emma-Lou managed, her voice tight. “It’s good of you to come.”

“Of course,” Rino said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Our families have always been like family. And you know the Ferraris, as Christians, have always been loyal investors in WWJD. It’s never been more important than now to see a real return on that investment. To honour your parents.”