I took off my shoes and then my jacket. My tie was undone, and then I took off my dress shirt. Annie reached out to unbuckle my belt, and I bent forward to kiss her forehead and then her lips.
She didn’t say a word. It was silent, and everything seemed staged. Her movements were slower than normal, more deliberate and thoughtful. Nothing was rushed. Annie’s constantly buzzing phone was nowhere to be seen.
That’s when I understood what we were doing. I figured out why Annie had slid the hotel room key into my pocket, and why Annie offered an invitation after so much time and distance.
She was saying good-bye, once and for all.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
I think I should’ve been more upset about the end. I wasn’t happy, but I wouldn’t exactly say that I felt sad, either. Part of me wondered whether Annie and I even had a relationship. Two lonely people who had found someone to lie next to at night, maybe that’s all we were. Perhaps I wasn’t upset that it ended because it had never started.
In any event, it was resolved.
Most men my age were either single by choice or divorced. I wondered whether a widowed man who still loved his deceased wife could ever really find love again, whether there were parts that would never be available because of the loss.
Those thoughts kicked around my head as I drove to the office the next morning after going home to shower and put on a fresh set of clothes.
When I walked in the door, Emma was already there. “Have a good night?” She smiled like she knew that I didn’t sleep in my own bed.
“It was OK.” I walked to the back but stopped in the doorway. “You happen to talk to the mayor yesterday about where I was going to be?”
She hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Well it wasn’t such a terrible breach of confidentiality, if you did.” I continued on into my office. “Quite enjoyed it, in fact.”
I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer. Then I pulled up my e-mails and calendar for the day.
Emma had scheduled me to attend the funeral for Devon Walker. She hadn’t previously mentioned it to me, and if she had, I would have come up with some excuse. But my mood had shifted.
Taking control of Sammy’s schooling, winning the Cecil Bates trial, and saying good-bye to Annie on good terms gave me a sense that I might be stepping out of the darkness. Fragmented pieces of my life had fallen away. I felt focused rather than overwhelmed.
There was also something else that was new: a little bit of confidence, threatening to grow.
After the church service, I was glad that the interment was going to be at Bellefontaine Cemetery, and it wasn’t just because of its proximity to the office. Devon Walker was a kid who probably never knew nature. He never had peace. He was never confronted by the larger picture or surrounded by beauty, but in this place, there would be no escaping it.
As the line of twenty-five cars drove through the main gate and onto the 314-acre property, the procession drove past the manicured gardens, mausoleums, fountains, small lakes, and brooks. Century-old trees provided shade and lined paths that wound through the tombs of the city’s famous and infamous.
We stopped at the far edge.
There was an elaborate gate that was no longer in use. In the past it had served those arriving at the cemetery by streetcar.
I turned off the engine, removed the key, and stepped out into the heat.
I waited a moment and watched the pallbearers remove the casket from the back of the hearse, then I followed them to the gravesite along with family members and friends. I hung back from the group, but I was still able to see and hear.
The pastor stepped forward.
I recognized his face from the billboards. Each advertisement had a picture of him and his wife with a website address for the Church of Everlasting Love, as well as a promise for a hot meal after every service.
“My name is Reverend Harold Battle, and I bless each and every one of you. I want to thank y’all for being here today.” He paused. “I ain’t gonna pretend that I knew Devon Walker. Truth is, I ain’t never met him. I also hadn’t ever met his mama or the rest of the family until they called me this week to help lead this service.” Reverend Battle held up his hand. “But that’s OK. Never too late to call. Never too late to put a little God in your life.”
Reverend Battle took a moment to look at the family members that were gathered to his right. He smiled at the mother and nodded. His grace filled the space. All was forgiven.
I looked at Tanisha, dressed in her Sunday best. She had been crying but was now trying hard to be strong. Her siblings and cousins were also standing in the line, some fidgeting more than others. The toddler, Dice, had already wandered off to play by himself under a tree. That’s what he liked to do.
My initial instinct was to dismiss Reverend Battle as a huckster, but the more he talked, the more I liked him. It’d been a long time since I’d attended church or listened to a preacher. Maybe I needed to go again. Maybe Sammy needed to learn that there might be something more out there, even if she later went her own way, like most do.
I had become one of the growing number of people who claimed to be spiritual, not religious—whatever that meant. Whether I believed in God or not was an open question. It’s hard to maintain faith when life gives you such pain and organized religion seems to have been co-opted by the cruel and self-righteous.
But on this day, Reverend Battle’s words about redemption rang true.
“This is one of the biggest cemeteries in the country,” the pastor continued. “Eighty-seven thousand people are buried here. All races. All classes. All religions. Rich. Poor.” He paused. “It is truly sad that this is the most diverse neighborhood in Saint Louis. Truly sad that the most diverse neighborhood in our city is one for the dead and not the living.
“We have much work to do.” Reverend Battle looked at me. “You have work to do.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
I found a quiet table in the back of the Beale Street BBQ after the funeral service. Beale’s always had a steady stream of customers, but there was never a long line like there was at Pappy’s Smokehouse. The food was just as good, but Beale’s was harder to find and located in a tougher part of town.
It was small, probably six tables, and served mostly take-out meals to the hardhats. They worked at the chemical plants between I-70 and the Mississippi River.
I opened my white Styrofoam container and the smell of sweet, acidic sauce burst up from a pile of pulled pork. I dumped the coleslaw that came with it on top of the pork, Memphis style, then took a long drink of sweet tea and got to work.