Funeral Director: So... you just drive straight up Route 30, and you'll see our sign that says "Bushman Funeral Home." It's right across from the turkey farm. Trust me, you'll... smell it.
Frankie: [sighs] Now should I get there a couple hours early to fill out the paperwork?
Funeral Director: Uh, actually, your husband already took care of that. I spoke to him a few days ago.
Frankie: Oh. Great. Uh, but there's still a bunch of permits and forms I need to fill out 'cause we brought the body across state lines.
Funeral Director: Nope. All taken care of. Your husband filled out everything and faxed it to me from his office in Indiana.
Frankie: Oh. Okay. Well, I guess I'll just write you a check, then.
Funeral Director: You're all paid in full. Your husband split it between five credit cards. You don't have to worry about anything. All you have to do is show up.
Frankie: Thank you.
Funeral Director: You're welcome.
[Frankie walks over and hugs Mike]
Mike: What's that for?
Frankie: Everything.
Frankie: [v.o.] You know, Mike may not be a nurturer in the typical sense, but he picks me up in ways I don't even know about. And that night he picked me up three more times on the way to the room. I picked him up once. Yeah. We partied hard Aunt Edie-style. Hey, she lived 'till 96, can't be that bad for you.