Prologue The coffin waited. Raindrops rolled down the bronze skin forming a puddle on the artificial grass draped around its base. Off to the side, the mound of dirt that would cover the coffin slowly melted into mud. The rain hadn't discouraged the mourners. At least a hundred people had journeyed from the church to the cemetery. The green canopies that formed a large 'U" around the open grave sheltered half of them; the rest huddled under their umbrellas and tried to stay dry. Every eye followed their progress. He held himself as rigidly as possible, afraid that the slightest hint of softness would shatter the dam of self-control he'd erected and send tears coursing down his cheeks. With an equally rigid arm, he steadied her as they slogged through the wet, spongy grass. He ached to steady her emotionally as well, but she rebuffed every attempt he made. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if she'd been tranquilized. But he knew it was grief- not drugs-that sedated her, reducing her to a slow-moving zombie. They reached the canopy closest to the coffin. The crowd silently parted, allowing them clear passage to the two empty chairs in the front row. She pulled away from him and sat, hands clenched in her lap. He followed her example, afraid that the slightest touch would shatter her into irreparable pieces. The funeral director gave them time to settle into their seats, then he opened a large black umbrella and motioned for the priest to stand beneath it. "Lord, in our grief, we beseech you to listen to our prayers for your servant whom you have called to your side," the priest said without even a peek at the bible in his hands. "Listen, oh Lord..." He glanced to his left. Listen, oh Lord.... Unable to stand the sight of her lifeless eyes, he turned to the coffin. His frustration and anger grew. Damn you, he thought. Damn you for dying. |
