First, I head to the dry cleaners, not sure if it’ll even be open today, the day after Christmas. But when I get there, their Open sign is lit up.
“May I help you?” the girl at the counter asks.
“Can I see the manager, please?”
She knocks on the door where Callie went to talk to him just days ago. It seems like so long ago now.
The manager steps out and reaches across the counter to shake my hand. “Hey. Roger Jenkins,” he says.
“Finn Parrish. I brought Callie Beecher here to talk to you the other day.”
“Yeah, we love Miss Callie,” he says. “We’ve been doing business with her for years. Not so much lately, but we still like seeing her now and then.”
“Well, I’m afraid I have bad news. Callie passed away yesterday in her sleep.”
He gives the same old response. “On Christmas Day?”
“That’s right,” I say. “I’m sorry to bring the news, but I wanted to let you know that the funeral is going to be at ten o’clock the day after tomorrow at the Greater Rivers Baptist Church. I wondered if you’d come.”
“Of course I’ll be there.”
“I want to make sure people come,” I say in case he’s just blowing smoke. “She has a granddaughter who cares a lot about her. I don’t want it to be one of those funerals. You know, the kind where only a handful of people are there. That would be sad.” I know I’m putting a guilt trip on him, twisting his arm, but I really don’t care. What I care about is Sydney and how she feels tomorrow.
“Sure, yes, I’ll be there. I loved Miss Callie. We’re going to miss her.”
I thank him and ask him to let the rest of the staff know, and to invite them to come. As I step to the door and push it open, he says, “Mr. Parrish?”
I look back.
“Now that I think about it, it’s kind of appropriate, don’t you think? Her passing away on Christmas Day? I think she would’ve liked that. That day was always real important to her.”
“Yeah, it was. And I can tell you she had a real good Christmas before it happened.”
“That’s good,” he says. “She deserved that.”
I walk back out to the car and head to the bank where Callie talked to the branch manager. I do the same with him—force his agreement to show up at the funeral. Then I go to Macy’s, where she struck up a conversation with the girl behind the counter when she bought those plaid towels.
I tell the girl about Callie, and even though she doesn’t know the name, she remembers her. “Look, I know this is a crazy request,” I say. “But Callie was a real special woman. And it means a lot to her granddaughter to give her a proper funeral. It would just be really great if you could come and bring some friends. I just want people to be there, you know?”
“Sure,” she says. “I can pack a pew.”
I go back to the church. The pastor is out right now, but I talk to the secretary. “I was here this morning with Callie Beecher’s granddaughter?”
“Yes, darlin’,” she says. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” I say. “Would you make sure that everyone knows about Callie? If there’s an email list or people you could contact? The choir or the Sunday School?”
“Absolutely,” she says. “I’ll let everybody know, I promise. We have a massive grapevine here. Don’t worry, we’ll turn out for our precious Callie.”
Sitting behind the steering wheel, I try to think where else I can find people who might care about Callie. Her neighborhood! Of course. I drive there, park in her driveway, and walk from door to door up and down her block. Only half of them are home, but those who are know who Callie is and thank me for telling them about the funeral.
When I get back to my car, I feel a sense of sadness that there isn’t more I can do. I don’t know who else to invite. As I drive home, I pray that God will work it out for Sydney. This whole praying thing gets easier every time I do it. I feel like I’m getting to know Callie’s Jesus a little better, even though I’m doing all the talking. But he speaks volumes in the way he listens.