“What? You think he looks out of place because he’s a Black man at Michael’s funeral?”
“I’m just saying. You and I both know there’s maybe a handful of Black men who work at Houghton. I’ve never seen him there or at any of Michael’s parties.”
“Are you trying to tell me that you know everyone in this church except that one man?”
“I’m not saying that, either.”
“Michael did have a life outside of work. Maybe he’s a personal friend.”
Rudy shook his head slowly. “Hmm . . . I don’t know. There’s something about him . . .”
Kelly threw us a stern expression and whispered, “You two might want to tamp down all the yapping. The pastor is about to pray.” Rudy and I passed a couple guilty looks at each other before bowing our heads.
But Rudy had piqued my curiosity. I glanced back at the man again. I could see him scanning the room as if doing some sort of mental intake. Rudy was right. He did look out of place.
The pastor cleared his throat at the podium and the solemn crowd shuffled quietly before settling in for his eulogy. He began with laudatory words about Michael’s devotion to his family and his uncompromising work ethic. I gazed at the picture of Michael and forced my thoughts on the things I hated about the two of us, things that would thwart my crying at his funeral. Things like the secrecy and all the broken promises to get me promoted. I’d been so incredibly stupid to waste my time with him. Heartache fell over me like a wet blanket across a fire, heavy and suffocating. It didn’t matter that I sat behind his grieving wife and children, or that I sat shoulder to shoulder with one of my direct reports who tattled of rumors about Michael having an affair with an as yet unnamed woman.
*
We stood outside the church. Michael’s kids and his parents looked beyond the news cameras and slowly piled into a black stretch limo where they would be shuttled off to a private graveside service. I caught Anna’s eye just before she climbed inside. She hesitated a beat, and her piercing gaze stopped me in my tracks. For a moment, we stood staring at each other. Did she know? I remember Vera used to say not every husband is truthful with his wife, but every wife knows the truth about her husband. You just know, she would say.
I watched Michael’s small grieving family, neatly bundled up and heading off into the cold winter morning for a private good-bye. I stood in the curl of exhaust smoke from the limo’s tailpipe, staring at the sleek black car as it pulled away from the church. The wind blustered across my face. No private good-bye for me. No one to hold my hand and tell me everything would be okay in time. No one to share the bewitching season. I blinked back tears.
I would find my own way. I always did.
I watched the newspeople start to dismantle and shove their camera equipment back into their vans. I took a deep breath before I glanced across the street. I did a double take when I spotted a face I hadn’t expected to see. I darted my eyes away and quickly hustled toward Rudy and Kelly at the front of the church.
“Hey, Rudy, you might be right about the man inside the church, the one you said looked out of place.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t look now, but the woman he’s talking to? Attractive Black woman, gray coat, long legs. She’s the detective who came to my office.”
Rudy peered across the street. “Okay, now it makes sense.”
“What makes sense?”
“They’re here to see who else is here. Or who isn’t.” Rudy raised an eyebrow at me. “Kelly’s brother is a cop. Sometimes they do that.”
Detective Bradford caught my eye and poked an elbow into the charcoal-suited man before they both walked over to us.
“Hello, Ms. Littlejohn,” Detective Bradford said. Smooth. Cool. Pixie cut perfect. I gazed at her and wondered if I had ever been so self-assured when I was in my thirties or at any point in my life. “Let me introduce you to my partner, Detective Charles Burke.” Burke gave a small nod, his hands planted deep in his pockets, with no intent to engage in the normal pleasantries of an introduction. Rudy gave me an I-told-you-so sort of look.
“Apparently you were right,” Detective Bradford said. “Judging from the attendance at this funeral, a lot of people admired Mr. Sayles.”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Any word on who will replace him?” Bradford asked. She caught me off guard for a moment. I hesitated, as if I were being exposed, like some big secret was leaking out. Her questions were always so pointed. Maybe it was just the nature of her being a cop. But somehow, as at our first meeting, I felt a little off-kilter in her presence.