The Funeral Dress by Susan Gregg Gilmore

a baseball cap most days. Emmalee imagined Sissie could look real pretty if she wanted.
    “Hey there, Emmalee. Haven’t seen you around since you had the baby. You got her with you?” Sissie pushed her head farther inside the truck.
    “Yeah, she’s right here.” Emmalee lifted the end of the cardboard box.
    “Oh, she’s precious. Look at those little bitty hands. What’s her name?”
    “Kelly. Kelly Faye.”
    “Mighty tiny thing. You feeding her enough?”
    “Feed her all the damn time. My tits so sore I can’t stand it.”
    Sissie grimaced and shoved her hands inside her jeans’ pockets. “That doesn’t sound fun.”
    “Fun? It ain’t fun.”
    “Well, what can I do for you? Fill her up? The car, I mean,” Sissie said and laughed.
    “Ain’t got but a little change. Hate to bother you, but can I get a couple of gallons on credit?” Emmalee reached into her coat pocket for the coins. “Not sure when I can get the rest to you. But I will. You know I’m good for it.”
    Nolan had always taken most of Emmalee’s pay when she worked at Tennewa. He said she owed him every penny of it after sixteen years of mooching off him. Emmalee handed over all but a few dollars of it, knowing anything less would only end in a fight. But in all her life, Nolan had never bought her much of anything, andshe remembered too many nights going to bed with her stomach screaming to be fed.
    “How about I fill the tank, Emmalee, sort of a baby gift from me and Mama. Only hitch, you’ll have to bring Kelly Faye back around for her to see. Mama’ll die to get her hands on her.” Sissie unscrewed the gasoline cap. “Already begging me for grandchildren. But I can guarantee that’s going to be one long wait. Told her I need a husband first, and I’m certainly not interested in getting me one of those anytime soon.” Sissie’s smile faded fast. “I’m sorry, Emmalee. I didn’t mean nothing by that. Just blabbering nonsense. I’m sure you and the daddy got it all worked out.”
    Emmalee looked at the baby. “Yeah, we got it all worked out.”
    Sissie shoved the nozzle in the tank and returned to the truck’s open window. “What are you doing out so early anyway? Baby not sleeping?”
    “She don’t sleep much. But I’m headed over to Fulton’s. Heard you ran the wrecker last night. On Old Lick?”
    “Sure did,” Sissie said, her voice turning somber. “Sheriff called a little before ten o’clock to let me know there’d been an accident. I didn’t get there till nearly two. Didn’t want to get in the way of the rescue.” Sissie pulled a faded blue rag from her back pocket. “We never could get the pickup down the mountain, what with the equipment we got. I think they’re going to call in some help from Chattanooga or Nashville.” Sissie rubbed her nose with the rag. It left a spot of black grease on her skin. “I can’t believe Mr. and Mrs. Lane are both gone. And whatan awful way to go, flying off the mountain like that. Such nice people.”
    Sissie wiped the windshield with a wet sponge and then dried the glass with the same blue rag. “Mr. Curtis was no doubt about the nicest man I’ve ever known. Pretty voice, too. He was a song leader at the church. And a deacon. He always had something kind to say about everybody. I don’t think he hated a single living soul.” Sissie pulled the nozzle from the tank and screwed the tank’s cap back on tight. “You friends with them or out running some kind of errand for your daddy? I saw him over there last night. That was some tough work those men did. They weren’t giving up till they got Mr. and Mrs. Lane down that mountain.”
    Emmalee drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. She liked thinking her father had done something good for Leona there at the end, although she had not expected that of him. In fact, she always found it difficult picturing him kind and respectful around the living or the dead, never knowing him to give either much