"Before we get started," he says, slightly apprehensively, "there are some things we need to discuss. The floral arrangements, specifically." 

"...what about 'em?"

"The flower arrangements that have been paid for your Uncle's estate are fine," he says. "The problem are... the other ones."

"...what other ones?"

"Very often, other mourners at a service will pay for flower arrangements to be delivered," Chesterfield adds. 

"The flower arrangements are beautiful," he continues. "The sentiments attached to them... less so."  

"So... a bunch of people who hated him sent flowers with nasty notes? Sounds fine to me."

He pauses. "Would you... perhaps like to see them before I put them out," he asks, tentatively. "They're upstairs, in my office." 

"Sure."

He leads the way. 

His office is full of elaborate floral arrangements in a way it is not normally meant to be, in various shapes and varieties, so many the office smells strongly floral, and the place is a riot of color. One of the flower arrangements has a sash with the words "See you in Hell" emblazoned on it. Another is a bunch of red roses and lilies, with the words "Dead? LOL okay" and a smiley-face-with-its-tongue-sticking-out emoji written on its pale sash. Yet another standing spray has the words "Not soon enough." Another is a basket arrangement of flowers, with the words "Suck it, Motherfucker" beautifully engraved near the base of the gorgeous and ornate vase. 

There are others, but those are a representative sample.

"Your uncle appears to have provoked passionate responses in his acquaintances," Chesterfield says, as April looks over the beautiful flowers and rotten sentiments. 

She surveys the chaos.

"...yeah, I'm seeing that." Slight shrug. "You know what? I think it's funny and I bet Uncle Jake would too. Put 'em out there."

Chesterfield pauses for several seconds, then smiles and nods. "All right, Ms. Turnberry," he says. "I'll have them put out shortly." He gestures his head at the vase. "Do you intend to keep any of the stands or vases when the viewing is over?" he asks.

"Now that you mention it, I might."

He nods again. "Would you might if I take some pictures of the vase before you take it home?" he asks. "I might share them on a private funeral director's site I visit. We live for this stuff." 

"Go right ahead."

"Excellent. Thank you, Ms. Turnberry, I and my associates will have the flowers out shortly, and we can begin once the guests arrive." 

Once the flowers are set up artfully (with their sentiments on full display), Chesterfield directs April to enter the gathering room, and wait for guests to arrive. They arrive in twos and threes, all male, and all of them looking like they spent a sizable fraction of their lives in the military. They make no effort to try to talk to April, or indeed any of the other groups, keeping to their own groups and talking only occasionally to one another in low murmurs. 

Hey, if all she has to do is stand around next to the Hate Flowers, that's much better than she was expecting.

Eventually, the flow of small groups of men stops, and no one arrives for several minutes. Chesterfield goes up to April and asks, "What would you like us to do now, Ms. Turnberry? Is there anything you'd like to say before we start the viewing, or would you prefer to save it for after?" 

"I don't super have anything to say."

He nods. "In that case, I'll announce that we'll be opening up the visitation room in five minutes. Why don't you go ahead and position yourself to accept condolences. That'll also give you a little time to say your own goodbyes."

"Yeah."

Chesterfield directs her out into the hall and to another door (guarded by one of his associates, who recognizes her and lets her in), to the visitation room, currently separated from the service room by only a folding panel. 

Inside the room are some of the remaining floral arrangements (the most prominent one displaying the words "See you in Hell" for all to see), and a casket containing her Uncle Jake. 

The casket is simple, made of wood and natural fibers so they can be easily burned at the on-site crematorium, and opened so that Jake can easily be seen, eyes closed and well dressed, resting as comfortably as the dead can. 

...she sighs, and crosses the room to stand next to Jake, and glances around the room to be sure she's alone in it, or as alone as you can get with a bunch of strangers waiting on the other side of a folding screen.