broad-shouldered African American man as she sobbed. The man wrapped both arms around her. Next to the woman a young boy stared straight ahead, his face blank.
The song dragged on.
Fly away…
Though Nicky felt nothing at the moment, he heard the couple’s thoughts. As if having once sat that close to a coffin had heightened his grief senses.
Why didn’t I see it coming? Why didn’t I stop it? If only I had…
Fourteen people filled the chairs in front of them. Nicky turned as if stretching his neck and counted over his left shoulder. Seven more. He did the same over his right and froze as his gaze locked on the too-innocent face he’d kneeled in front of two days ago. She stared back, eyes filled with pain she couldn’t possibly feel. Only one reason a reporter would sit in the back row of a funeral.
She was doing a story.
His jaw clenched. A box in the hall closet at home held clippings written by a woman like her. A woman who’d mastered the art of replicating empathy.
“That must have been terrifying for you. It’s easy to second guess, isn’t it? If you could change one thing, one moment, what would you have done differently?”
Questions pressed against the inside of his skull—the same unanswered pleas causing the couple to sob and cling to each other and the boy to stare vacantly.
Like the boy, he chose not to feel.
“Miguel’s life was shorter than you, his family and friends, hoped it would be, but our lives are not measured by the number of years, or days, or hours. Our lives are measured by the amount of love we give and the quality of joy we experience.” The man at the microphone raised the corners of his lips as if looking in the mirror and trying to copy a picture of a smile. Dani looked down at the black-and-white photo of Miguel and his parents, at the en dash between his birth and Tuesday afternoon.
“One thing I know beyond the shadow of a doubt after talking to many of you is that Miguel Reyes loved his parents and…”
The man—no title decorated his name in the program—droned on with generic words about a person he’d never met. He spoke with glittering adjectives of a man who’d displayed his joy for life with a 9 mm pistol. Dani stared at the child who must be Miguel’s brother as hopelessness filled the room like invisible, scentless gas.
“Miguel was a listener. Friends could count on him to hear them out and to offer wise advice.”
Dani bit back a laugh. Maybe the description was true. Maybe there were times the boy had been a model friend, but none of the speaker’s words shed light on the reality China had shared with her three months ago. Nothing hinted at his jealous, paranoid nature, at the way he stalked her when she went out with her friends, texted her incessantly when he was out with his. No one in the room could guess by the eulogy that the boy they memorialized was capable of flashes of rage that left bruises that faded and emotional scars that never would. Dani wrapped her fingers around the rolled program.
Several rows from the front, Dominick sat with a man she guessed was his father. Dani tried to read the tight line of Dominick’s mouth, but she had no frame of reference. She’d only seen him angry. Except for one strange out-of-context moment. The distinct angles of his profile would be easy to sketch.
A frustrated sigh rippled onto her shoulder, snapping her out of contemplations that had no place at a funeral. Evan glared at the man at the podium and folded his arms across his chest, apparently sharing her frustration at empty, meaningless words.
“…are tempted to grieve for him, we must remember that our sorrow is for ourselves alone. It is good that we grieve, for it means we have loved, but we need always remind ourselves and each other that he is in a place untouched by pain. A place…”
Really? What makes you so sure?
She fought the sadness with an imaginary leap over chairs and a shove to the man at the podium.
Don’t listen
The song dragged on.
Fly away…
Though Nicky felt nothing at the moment, he heard the couple’s thoughts. As if having once sat that close to a coffin had heightened his grief senses.
Why didn’t I see it coming? Why didn’t I stop it? If only I had…
Fourteen people filled the chairs in front of them. Nicky turned as if stretching his neck and counted over his left shoulder. Seven more. He did the same over his right and froze as his gaze locked on the too-innocent face he’d kneeled in front of two days ago. She stared back, eyes filled with pain she couldn’t possibly feel. Only one reason a reporter would sit in the back row of a funeral.
She was doing a story.
His jaw clenched. A box in the hall closet at home held clippings written by a woman like her. A woman who’d mastered the art of replicating empathy.
“That must have been terrifying for you. It’s easy to second guess, isn’t it? If you could change one thing, one moment, what would you have done differently?”
Questions pressed against the inside of his skull—the same unanswered pleas causing the couple to sob and cling to each other and the boy to stare vacantly.
Like the boy, he chose not to feel.
“Miguel’s life was shorter than you, his family and friends, hoped it would be, but our lives are not measured by the number of years, or days, or hours. Our lives are measured by the amount of love we give and the quality of joy we experience.” The man at the microphone raised the corners of his lips as if looking in the mirror and trying to copy a picture of a smile. Dani looked down at the black-and-white photo of Miguel and his parents, at the en dash between his birth and Tuesday afternoon.
“One thing I know beyond the shadow of a doubt after talking to many of you is that Miguel Reyes loved his parents and…”
The man—no title decorated his name in the program—droned on with generic words about a person he’d never met. He spoke with glittering adjectives of a man who’d displayed his joy for life with a 9 mm pistol. Dani stared at the child who must be Miguel’s brother as hopelessness filled the room like invisible, scentless gas.
“Miguel was a listener. Friends could count on him to hear them out and to offer wise advice.”
Dani bit back a laugh. Maybe the description was true. Maybe there were times the boy had been a model friend, but none of the speaker’s words shed light on the reality China had shared with her three months ago. Nothing hinted at his jealous, paranoid nature, at the way he stalked her when she went out with her friends, texted her incessantly when he was out with his. No one in the room could guess by the eulogy that the boy they memorialized was capable of flashes of rage that left bruises that faded and emotional scars that never would. Dani wrapped her fingers around the rolled program.
Several rows from the front, Dominick sat with a man she guessed was his father. Dani tried to read the tight line of Dominick’s mouth, but she had no frame of reference. She’d only seen him angry. Except for one strange out-of-context moment. The distinct angles of his profile would be easy to sketch.
A frustrated sigh rippled onto her shoulder, snapping her out of contemplations that had no place at a funeral. Evan glared at the man at the podium and folded his arms across his chest, apparently sharing her frustration at empty, meaningless words.
“…are tempted to grieve for him, we must remember that our sorrow is for ourselves alone. It is good that we grieve, for it means we have loved, but we need always remind ourselves and each other that he is in a place untouched by pain. A place…”
Really? What makes you so sure?
She fought the sadness with an imaginary leap over chairs and a shove to the man at the podium.
Don’t listen
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