professor. She spoke of you constantly.”
Cait’s eyes flooded with tears. “Thank you for telling me that—she was a tremendously talented person, and so wonderful to be around. I’m just … terribly sorry.”
“We are too.”
The pair of them hugged, holding on to each other for a moment that lasted an eternity. And then someone came up to talk to Mrs. Barten, and Cait stepped out of the way to dab at her eyes.
So hard. This was just so damned hard.
Peering to the side, she looked through an old pane of glass into the body of the church. Down the long nave, the pews that had been empty when she’d been here the day before were stuffed with people, heads turning this way and that as they chatted with the folks around them. Even out here, she could hear the chatter, the occasional coughs, the shuffling of countless feet, the creaking of old wood as more seats were taken.
Staring down that vast aisle, she found herself locking on the altar again, and as she focused on the figure of Jesus upon the cross, and the incredible stained-glass windows all around the statue, she thought of her parents.
True believers. They had made the commitment to their religion with their hearts, minds, and souls, their faith transforming the complex mixture of mythology and history of the Bible into a living, breathing dictate for everything they did.
She’d resented them for it, but had never thought any deeper than that about her feelings … or theirs. But standing in the front of the church, having stared at all those grief-stricken faces, she wondered for the first time if maybe her mother and father’s mission to bring relief and guidance to people like these wasn’t somehow a good thing.
Take out the “maybe.” In fact, they had told her countless times how they just wanted to help—that was what drove them.
Cait hadn’t listened. She’d been too hurt to try to see anything from their point of view. Now, though … if she’d had a way to do anything to improve this sad occasion, if there was anything she could say or do to bring forward any help … she’d do it—
“Cait?”
Cait recoiled as her name was—“G.B.?”
“Hi. This is a surprise.”
As he leaned in for a hug, she wrapped her arms around him. “What are you doing here?” What, like she was a gatekeeper or something? “I mean, I didn’t expect to see you here. Did you know Sissy?”
He pulled back and shook his head. “The family asked me to come and sing.”
“Oh, that’s so nice of you.”
He did as she had, leaning to the side and searching the crowd on the far side of the glass. “Lot of people.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
Her eyes went over him quickly. His long hair was pulled back and tied at the base of his neck, his suit and tie black, his button-down white. His shoes were polished, and he smelled like he was fresh from the shower.
He looked as good as he always did.
His blue eyes swung back around to her. “I got your message yesterday. I’ve been meaning to call you.”
“Oh, listen, with what happened at the theater, I can imagine things have gotten complicated.”
“They even called me down to the station for questioning.” As her eyes bugged, he shook his head. “They’re doing it to everyone. It’s crazy—but you know, someone’s dead and they have to find out who killed her.”
Another funeral, Cait thought. For another family, another segment of the community.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine. It’s just been an exhausting twenty-four hours.”
“I can’t even imagine. Listen, I haven’t read the paper or been online since it happened—who was she?”
“Nobody important.” He winced. “What I mean is—”
“No, I know what you meant. And good Lord, if there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
He smiled at her. “You’re the best—and I’m going to take you up on that.”
Instantly, a shaft of guilt went through her. But come on, now was not the time to tell him that they were on friends-only status. Or to focus on anything but Sissy and her family.
“Where are you sitting?” he asked, nodding to the church proper.
“In the back somewhere. I’m going to the burial, too.”
“So am I. You want to ride over together?”
She nodded. “Yes, please. That would be great.”
He kissed her cheek and then walked off, going through the double doors, and striding forward to the front —where he talked to a couple of men who were wearing robes.
She probably should find a place to sit. They’d be starting soon.
Just as she passed over the threshold, something along the far left caught her eye. It was the janitor she’d seen the day before, still dressed in his mucky green overalls. He was looking right at her, his old face wearing such sorrow on it, it seemed as though he knew Sissy personally, too.
He lifted his hand in a wave, and after Cait returned the greeting, the janitor turned away, walking along the far edge of the pews, staring over the assembled masses as if mourning along with them. And then he did the strangest thing. At the front of the church, he slid in beside a young girl who was maybe fourteen or so—who had long straight blond hair just as Sissy had.
Had to be Sissy’s sister.
Guess he was a personal friend of the family’s.
“Excuse us,” someone said from behind her.
“Oh, sorry.” Cait moved aside so that a woman with a stroller could get by.
When Cait glanced up again … the janitor was gone.
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
Sissy only half heard the words, and what did register was filtered through some kind of echo-chamber effect, the syllables repeating endlessly, overlapping one another until she wasn’t sure exactly what had been spoken.
Standing on the lawn of the great cathedral, she felt like the ghost she was, the few stragglers who were arriving for her funeral not noticing her presence—or that of the angel who stood beside her.
She had debated whether to come or not. When Chillie had pitched the newspaper on the front porch this morning, she’d had no intention of reading it—but when she’d unwrapped the thing, she’d seen her own picture below the fold.
And learned the when and where of her own funeral.
Adrian had insisted on coming with her, and she’d been glad, actually. The ride on his Harley had done a lot to clear her head—although all that improvement had gone right into the crapper as soon as they’d pulled up to the church she’d gone to most every Sunday of her life. And then she’d started to recognize the people who were coming up the broad walkway to the front entrance: Her old babysitter with her husband and her baby in a stroller. Her choir teacher from elementary school. The people who lived across the street.
She’d thought that seeing her parents and her sister would be the worst part. And that was probably the truth—so how much harder was this going to get?
“I want to go in,” she said. Except her feet didn’t move.
“Here.” A huge forearm butted into her peripheral vision. “I’ll walk with you.”
Sissy ended up holding on to the angel’s huge biceps for dear life as the two of them entered through the open doors.
“My pictures …” she whispered, looking around.
About a dozen pieces of her art were mounted on easels in a semi-circle around the foyer, the pastels and ink drawings and oil paintings all ones she had done as part of her art major.
“Oh, my God, I remember doing this last fall.” Walking over, she stood in front of a depiction of the Caldwell bridges that she’d painted in the rust-colored hues of autumn. She’d completed it right on the shores of the Hudson, had sat there in the sunshine for two hours with the canvas and her palette and a conviction that life lasted forever—and wasn’t that a good thing.
