Michael’s two college-aged kids sat on either side of their mother, the three of them painted in a stoic canvas of familial grief along with Michael’s parents, who appeared to be in their eighties, stooped over and fragile looking. I imagined Michael’s death had provided enough personal devastation to bring his parents to the precipice of their own deaths. He was the bedrock of their family, and with him gone so unexpectedly, they were all wading into new territory without an emotional compass to guide them. Vera used to call the time right after a loved one dies the “bewitching season”—that surreal wedge of time when everyone searches for a new normal but the void is too deep and too raw, leaving you in emotional limbo.
I stared at Anna in the front row, draped in a black wool suit, her face drawn and pale, the hollow look of a woman emptied by despair. For a minute, I found it hard to believe she was the same woman who stood beside Michael at dinner parties and laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she’d heard them before. She was my polar opposite, the dream of every American male WASP, from her pale complexion and blond chignon wound at her nape, to her petite figure maintained through what I’m sure was a zealous avoidance of carbs and a steady diet of Pilates and Barre classes.
Rudy and his wife, Kelly, came in a few minutes later. Kelly and I exchanged a cordial hug before they sat beside me, Rudy in the center. This was our usual seating arrangement at all work events that Kelly attended, lest she risk becoming a human fence over which Rudy and I would banter. They made an attractive couple. Kelly was Barbie-doll cute to Rudy’s tall Ken-doll handsome. But she was also a no-nonsense Jersey girl, too. Not like the fake, phony kind I went to school with at Coventry, either. Sometimes I wished I could hang out with the two of them more, but I tried to be mindful of appearing to play favorites among the legal staff. It was bad enough that Rudy usually spent half the day in my office gossiping.
Rudy nudged me. “So where are your new colleagues?” he whispered.
“What?”
“You see anybody else in here from the twentieth floor?”
I scanned the church. No sign of Nate, Willow, or anyone else who worked in the executive suite. “Hmm . . . the detective who came to my office the other day asked me if Michael had any disagreements with the people he worked with.”
“It must have been a hell of a disagreement if you can’t spend an hour at the funeral service of someone you call ‘Houghton family.’ I’m just sayin’。” Rudy was right. I scoped the church again. Even Michael’s former assistant was missing in action.
A minute later, Rudy leaned over again and whispered in my ear, “Did you hear the latest about Michael?”
“What?” I asked, perking up nervously.
“I heard Michael was having an affair.”
My stomach wrapped itself in a tight little knot and my ears muffled, like my head had suddenly plunged deep underwater. Maybe it was my subconscious attempt not to hear what I was hearing. “What are you talking about? Who told you that?”
“One of the admins on Twenty. She said she heard he tried to break it off and the woman killed him, staged the office to look like a suicide.”
“That’s crazy!” A woman sitting in front of me whipped her head around, giving me a stabbing glance. I dropped my voice back to a whisper. “I mean, the police said it was a suicide. They would know better than some admin on Twenty. Did she say who the woman was?”
“Nah.”
“Well, then, it’s just stupid speculation. Geez, you’re worse than a blabbering old woman,” I said, shaking my head and motioning him to be quiet.
“Yeah, I’m not sure whether it’s true or not. Michael always struck me as the salt-of-the-earth, straight-arrow type. Anyway, with his work hours who could he be having an affair with?”
“It’s not true,” I said, shaking my head vigorously. “Stop talking like that. We’re at his memorial for God’s sake.” I toyed with the handle of my purse and stared straight ahead.
A few minutes later, Rudy nudged me once more. This time, he nodded his chin toward a stranger sitting across the aisle from us. “Who’s that?”
I followed Rudy’s chin across the aisle. A serious-looking Black man with a shaven head, dressed in an expensive charcoal suit, peered back in my direction. Something about his demeanor gave an aura of formality, all business.
I looked back at Rudy and shrugged.
“I don’t know him, either. He looks out of place here,” Rudy said softly.