Val jumped up. Holy crap how did I lose track of time? Val and Gwen’s shift, which had started at 6am, had flown by. The funeral services for Gabrielle and Adam Morgan began at 9am and Val and Gwen planned on attending. Now Val had another purpose: to see Gabrielle’s sister, Bridget, in person. She rushed to the women’s changing room, pulled off her scrubs and put on a pair of navy slacks, beige blouse, and finished with the matching blazer for the pants. She slipped on her boots, grabbed her knee-length black wool trench coat and ran to the parking ramp to meet Gwen, who was already sitting behind the wheel in her car. “We should just make it,” Gwen said.

Ten minutes later they were circling around the funeral home. Val squinted. The sky was a cloudless, bright blue, and the sun reflected starkly off the white snow, creating an intense sheen. Val had to shield her eyes from the glare as she looked out of the window. “There must be several hundred mourners here.” She noted all the cars, and the number of people trying to get into the funeral home, where it was warm. The blue sky was very deceiving. The outside temperature teetered at ten degrees Fahrenheit.

“Jesus, there’s nowhere to even park,” Gwen said.

“When your name is Morgan, you draw a crowd.” Val turned her head in all directions. The reporters certainly weren’t missing the event. Every local station was here. Val saw two national ones, too.

Gwen spun the wheel, taking them down a side street which was parked bumper to bumper. After going up and down several streets, they eventually got a spot in the lot of a small strip plaza about three blocks away.

It took a full five minutes to walk over snow-covered sidewalks back to the funeral home, but there was no way they were going inside yet. The line to even get to the door was snaking around the building. Val was limping as she and Gwen got in place behind a young woman with long blonde hair. Her bad leg was at its worst in cold weather and that walk just about tested its limits. Val looked at her watch. “It’s 9:10. We’re missing it.”

The blonde, who was about Gwen’s height, turned around. “The Morgans’ receiving line starts at nine. The service, at eleven.”

Val’s eyebrows shot up, surprised. She’d never been to a funeral with a receiving line before. Its etiquettes and customs were something beyond her comprehension but it made sense with this many people coming to pay their respects. “Thanks for letting us know.”

“No problem.” The blonde turned back around. Though the woman was helpful Val didn’t feel comfortable with the fact that she had no problem listening to her conversation, and signaled to Gwen to say nothing sensitive.