The Cemetery Meeting Where I Chose Which Promises Came First

Conrad had placed glossy folders at every chair.

His new business name filled the covers. Under it, a photograph showed our workshop with my truck cropped out.

“There's no need for a fight,” he told me. “They need someone with confidence.”

I set my plain folder beside his.

Mae opened the meeting in the cemetery office. Beyond its windows, bare cottonwoods stood over rows of low stones. Families had been invited because their reserved stock was part of the dispute.

Ruth sat beside Daniel's father, Ben Ortiz.

Conrad spoke first.

“My former associate is a skilled craft worker,” he said. “But this contract requires capital and leadership.”

“What capital?” Mae asked.

He held up his folder.

“I have arrangements.”

“With which supplier?”

“Those details are private.”

Elise sat beside me. She had told me to stick to things I could prove.

When Mae turned my way, I laid down the company papers and the temporary order.

“I own Juniper Stone Works. I bought Conrad's share for $90,000. The final payment cleared six months ago.”

I passed around copies, with our private account numbers covered.

Ruth read the first page, then looked at Conrad.

“You said she was an employee.”

“This is being disputed,” he said.

Elise tapped the order.

“The court has granted Ms. Palakiko access and management control. Further claims remain pending.”

I showed the seven original reservations, the five later orders, and the cemetery cutting list. Colored tabs linked each repeated pallet number.

Nobody needed a speech to understand them.

“Which stone is ours?” Mae asked.

“Under your order, those seven pallets. Under earlier signed reservations, they belong to family jobs. We cannot fill all those orders from the stock on hand.”

“We paid twenty-two thousand four hundred forty dollars.”

“I know.”

“Can you refund it?”

“Not today.”

Conrad spread his hands.

“And there it is.”

I let him finish moving his hands.

“The company has $3,842.17 available. The records are being reviewed. I'm not asking you to trust a number that isn't there.”

Mae pushed her glasses up.

“What are you asking?”

I had spent half the night making a schedule. The first version put the cemetery first because it was the biggest bill. I had torn that version up.

Outside town, the valley wind had already begun to cut through our coats. Every week lost could push a setting past frozen ground. A date on a sheet meant something out here.

“The seven older family orders keep their reserved stone,” I said. “I'll finish those first. Among them, I'll work by promised installation dates, with cemetery access and weather considered. Everyone gets the schedule.”

Ben lifted one hand.

“Daniel's was promised before his birthday.”

“It's first on the list. I checked the date.”

“That was last week.”

“I know. I can't give you that day back.”

He lowered his hand.

I turned to Mae.

“I need new stock for your forty-four markers. I have a written supplier quote. Six can be finished within twenty-one days of a revised agreement. The other thirty-eight within ninety days.”

“You'd take more money now?” a board member asked.

“No. Your existing deposit stays credited at $510 per marker. You pay the remaining $1,190 on each only after you accept it. The first six would bring in $7,140.”

“And the five newer families?” Ruth asked.

“They'll get a choice of new dates or a written refund plan. None of their deposits will buy cemetery stone.”

Conrad laughed once.

“You'll be working for nothing.”

“I'll be working off what this shop owes.”

Mae asked him to produce his supplier agreement and insurance certificate. He said they would follow once the board signed.

The board went into a closed discussion about the contract. We waited in the hall. Ben studied a photograph of the cemetery under snow.

“Can you really cut his rocket?” he asked me.

“Yes. But I'll need you to approve the drawing on stone.”

He nodded without looking away from the photograph.

The board returned after twenty minutes. It would consider my revised schedule once its lawyer checked the terms. It would not move the contract to Conrad's new company.

Mae gathered his folders.

“Please remove our cemetery's name from your proposed customer list.”

Outside, Conrad caught up with me.

“You're making a mistake,” he said. “You haven't seen the delivery authorizations.”

“Elise has the pickup sheet.”

“Not that one.”

He took out his phone and sent something.

Mine buzzed before I reached my truck.

The attachment was a release for all seven pallets. At the bottom was a signature shaped like my name.