We held the service at Shiloh Road on Tuesday. I couldn’t preach it. Reverend Okonjo did. I sat in the front pew in my shiny charcoal suit beside Wes and Hazel, and when Desmond played “Unchained Melody” on the old church piano at the end, half the room came apart.
Afterward, people filed out into the thin spring sunshine. I stood on the church steps shaking hands, accepting casseroles, nodding at condolences I couldn’t hear.
That’s when Wes came over.
He’d taken off his tie and was holding it balled in one fist. In his other hand was a long white envelope, sealed, slightly bent at one corner as though he’d been carrying it in his pocket for days.
He looked nervous. More than nervous. He looked like a man about to step off a ledge.
“Gordon, there’s something you need to know.”
He held the envelope out to me.
