As other law students drifted back to town, they wanted to talk about Gordy, conversations the three preferred to avoid. On Thursday night, one carload drove to Martinsburg for visitation at the funeral home, but Mark, Todd, and Zola decided to skip it. A party materialized later that night at a popular sports bar, and they spent an hour with friends. They left when the beer was flowing and their fellow students began offering toasts to Gordy.
Mark was relieved when Brenda did not call. He did not want to speak at the funeral, and knew it was unlikely anyway. Neither he nor Todd was asked to be a pallbearer, another relief. The service would be dreadful enough. They planned to stay away from the families and watch it from a distance, if that was possible. There was even talk of not attending, but that would have been wrong.
On Friday, Mark and Todd dressed in their nicest suits, white shirts, subdued ties, leather shoes, their best “interview uniforms,” and picked up Zola, who wore a long black dress and looked like a model. They drove ninety minutes to Martinsburg and scoped out the church, a pretty redbrick building with lots of stained glass. A crowd was already milling around the front steps. A hearse was parked at the curb. At 1:30, they entered the vestibule and took programs from an usher. On the cover was a handsome photo of their friend. Mark asked the usher about a balcony and he pointed at some stairs. It was still empty when they sat down in the rear pew, tucked away in a remote corner of the sanctuary, as far away as possible from the pulpit.
Zola sat between them and wiped her cheeks with a tissue. “This is all my fault,” she said and began crying. They didn’t scold her and they didn’t argue. Let the grieving run its course. There would be plenty of time to hash it out later. Mark and Todd felt like crying too but managed to keep their composure.
The church was beautiful, with a wood-paneled choir loft slightly elevated behind the pulpit and a massive pipe organ to one side. Behind the loft was a painting of Christ on the cross. Stained-glass windows lined the walls and provided plenty of light. Four sections of pews formed a semicircle around a center aisle. As they waited, a crew of solemn men set up dozens of flower arrangements on both sides of the pulpit.
The pews were filling quickly and soon there were others in the balcony. The Tanners and Karveys had lived in Martinsburg for generations and an overflow crowd was expected. Mark was reminded of his little fictional scenario when the town learned that one of its favorite sons had run off with an African Muslim, jilting his childhood sweetheart. Jilting everyone who knew Gordy. It was almost humorous a few days earlier, but not so much at the moment. Fortunately, the town would never know. If things had gone as planned, in about four months Mark and Todd would have been standing down there as groomsmen watching Brenda walk down the aisle. Now they were hiding in the balcony, paying their respects while trying to avoid the family.
An organist took her position and began playing a quiet dirge that seemed perfect for the occasion. After a few minutes, the choir filed in from a side door and filled the loft. It was obvious that Gordy’s farewell would get the full treatment. The mourners kept coming and were soon standing along the walls. The balcony was packed and the three squeezed together to make room for an elderly couple. At 2:00 p.m., the pastor appeared and settled in behind the pulpit. According to the program, he was the Reverend Gary Chester. He raised his arms and everyone stood. The casket was rolled down the center aisle with four pallbearers on each side. Behind it, Brenda walked alone, erect and steadfast. Mr. and Mrs. Tanner were behind her, then the rest of the family. Gordy had an older brother and a teenage sister, and she was struggling. Her brother had an arm around her shoulders, helping her. When the casket, mercifully unopened, was in place beneath the pulpit, and when the family took their seats, the Reverend Chester motioned for the crowd to sit.
Mark glanced at his watch: 2:12. How long would this last?
After a lengthy prayer by the reverend, the choir sang four stanzas of a hymn. The organist followed with a piece that could not have been more depressing. When she finished, several women were sobbing. Brenda’s brother stood, walked to a lectern near the piano, and read Psalm 23. Chester returned to the pulpit and began his homily. Evidently, he had been there for a long time because he knew Gordy well. He told stories of watching the kid play football and baseball. Without using the word “suicide,” he dwelled on the mysteries of death and its often confusing forms. God is always in control. He has a plan for everything. And while we are left to question death, and especially tragedies, God knows what he is doing. We may someday understand why Gordy did what he did, or we may never know, but God is the supreme architect of all life and death and our faith in him is never ending.
Chester was reassuring, a real pro. At times his voice grew weak, and he was obviously suffering. Given the impossibility of his task, he gamely offered words of comfort.
Jimmy Hasbro was Gordy’s favorite childhood friend, and Mark and Todd had partied with him several times during law school. His was the first of two eulogies. As a kid, Gordy was fascinated by snakes and liked to collect them. His mother, with good reason, banned them from the house. It was a cute little hobby that came to an abrupt end when a copperhead sank its fangs into his right knee. The doctors even considered amputation. Jimmy did a fine job with the story and brought some humor to the occasion. As teenagers, their favorite cop had been an old guy named Durdin, now dead. Late one night Durdin’s squad car went missing. It was found the next morning in a pond just outside town. How it got there was a great mystery that had never been solved. Until now. With a flair for drama and humor, Jimmy told the story of Gordy “borrowing” the car and driving it into the pond as Jimmy watched. The church exploded with laughter that went on for several minutes. What a perfect time to reveal what really happened after all these years.
When the laughter passed, Jimmy grew somber again. His voice cracked when he described Gordy’s loyalty. He called him the epitome of a “foxhole buddy,” the guy you want beside you in a fight. The guy who always had your back. Sadly, though, some of Gordy’s friends had not been so loyal. When he needed them the most, when he was suffering and in need of help, some of his friends had not risen to the task.
Mark flinched and Zola grabbed his hand. Todd glanced over. All three felt sucker punched.
So this was the narrative in Martinsburg! Gordy wasn’t responsible for his own actions. Brenda played no part in his crack-up. No, sir. Some friends in D.C., his law school pals, had neglected him.