Show Me (Thomas Prescott 4) by Nick Pirog (warren buffett book recommendations .txt) 📕

Uh-oh.

I sprinted after them.

The assemblage was close to a hundred people. There were seats for fifty, then another fifty people were standing. Mike’s casket split the crowd in half, situated next to a large mound of dirt that would cover his casket after it was lowered into the ground. A small lectern was set under the shade of a birch tree, where a reverend stood speechless. He, like everyone else gathered, watched in stunned silence as two little, funeral-crashing piglets found their way to the large pile of dirt and began rolling around in it.

OMG.

I watched as a couple people attempted to wrangle them, but the two piglets darted away in a game of chase.

By the time I pushed through the crowd, May had her teeth clamped down on a man’s pant cuff and was playfully trying to rip them off his body. The man was gently trying to pull her off but Harold was taking great offense to this and squealing at him loudly.

My cheeks rosy with embarrassment—not to mention the hundred-yard sprint—I leaned down and attempted to pry May off the man’s pants.

“I’m so sorry,” I muttered over and over again.

Finally, after what seemed like two eternities, May released her death grip on the man’s pants, and I picked her up.

I turned to look for Harold and saw a woman holding him.

Wheeler.

She was wearing a black skirt and a gray blouse. Her hair was pinned up, and she had a dash more makeup on than usual. Had I not been in the midst of the third most embarrassing moment of my life, I would have told her how beautiful she looked. Shaking her head lightly, she asked, “Did you really bring your piglets to a funeral?”

“They were supposed to stay in the car,” I stammered. “Randall let them out.”

Speaking of Randall, he was leisurely making his way toward the group, in no apparent hurry to bask in my humiliation.

I turned back to the man whose pants May ruined and told him how sorry I was. It took a moment to register he was the same guy who I sat next to at Dina’s Dine-In my first day in town. The farmer with the Carhartt jacket, the thick mustache, and the callused hands.

He waved me off with a smile. “You think that’s the first time I’ve had a piglet chomping at my pants? Hell, happened to me just last week.” Everyone within earshot laughed. He gave me a soft pat on the shoulder, then gave May a pet on the head. “You got a strong bite there, princess.”

She oinked.

Then he turned to Harold in Wheeler’s arms and said, “And you, way to stick up for your sister. I’d go into battle with you any day, buddy.” He gave Harold an affectionate rub on the snout.

My cheeks slowly returned to their natural color. The blossoming crowd was still gazing at us, and I noted some familiar faces: Chief Eccleston, Matt Miller, and the other deputies dressed in their blue uniforms; Annie from Kim’s Home Goods; and Victoria Page.

Officer Miller sneered in my direction. It was the first time I’d seen him since he kicked the shit out of me. If I’d seen him in any other situation, I would have given him the Ice Man chomp, but the piglets and I already caused enough of a scene, not to mention that ever since he kicked me, my practice chomps were making a weird clicking noise.

“Alrighty, folks,” the reverend said from behind the lectern, “let’s get things back on track here.”

Slowly people turned their attention back to him.

Wheeler and I moved to the outskirts of the group where Randall was just approaching.

“Thanks for your help,” I said to Randall.

“Not my pigs,” is all he said in reply.

Touché.

Randall gave Wheeler a quick side hug. Wheeler smiled and said, “Nice suit.”

He winked at me and said, “See.”

I pondered taking the pigs back to the car, but they both seemed exhausted from their prison break and were comfortable being held.

The reverend was speaking, and I tuned in. Most likely, he was a reverend at one of the churches, and he spoke of life and death. I’d been to enough funerals in my short life that I could have paraphrased the various psalms, scriptures, and epithets he relayed.

This made me think about Harold’s funeral. I wasn’t sure if I felt guilty for missing it or not. Knowing Harold, he would have been tickled pink that I skipped it, driving to the farm instead. Still, missing it nagged at me.

I shook the thought away and tracked my eyes over the crowd. Chief Eccleston was near the lectern facing me. I assumed he would be next to speak. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes moved to mine.

I took one of May’s little hooves and waved it at him.

He didn’t respond.

Next to him was a woman I’d never seen in person, but whom I recognized from the newspaper and the many campaign signs littered throughout town. Tarrin Mayor, Paula Van Dixon.

She was wearing a black pantsuit. Her face was extreme and angled, as were the gold spectacles riding low on her nose. She reminded me of Meryl Streep, and I put her in the same age bracket.

On the other side of the gathering, clad in a low-cut black dress, was Caroline. I’m not sure what the acceptable amount of cleavage is at a funeral, but whatever it was, Caroline exceeded it by two handfuls.

Unlike Chief Eccleston, Caroline was already glancing in my direction when I looked her way. She gave a soft wave with one of her hands. I gave a light nod in return, then looked away. Though to be perfectly honest, I would have stared a few seconds longer had Wheeler not grimaced in my peripheral.

The reverend wrapped things up, then he introduced Chief Eccleston.

Eccleston waddled behind the podium and cleared his throat. The sun glistened off his blistering scalp. He spent the next few minutes talking about what a senseless