“I don’t know about you, Ben, but I’ve been a total mess since Friday. I, um, I can’t stop crying,” Grant said.
Ben was astonished that his uncle—a grown man, a man who’d been in the Navy, who had gone to prison—would admit to crying like a little boy. But as Grant’s eyes began to mist over with tears, Ben’s welled up also.
“I’m so sorry, Ben.” Grant sighed, emotion coloring his smooth voice. “I’m sorry we both missed out on having Lo in our lives. But I do know he loved you, his only son—he loved you so much, Ben.”
Ben took a shuddering breath and shuffled forward, pulled into the waiting embrace by his uncle’s soothing words. Watching the tall man clinch the boy in his arms, both Ashley and Joe felt a lump in their throats.
Grant took a deep breath as he gestured behind him. “I want you to meet my Uncle Joe. Um, Joe Madsen, this is Ashley Fredrickson and Ben Barberi.”
Joe shook Ashley’s hand. “I wish we’d shared the pleasure of meeting before today.”
“Me too.” Sadness filled her eyes. “I wish Logan would have stayed with you, instead of running to Angelo. Maybe we wouldn’t be at his funeral right now.”
Ben narrowed his eyes at his mother—why was she ragging on Angelo like that? “I deeply regret letting Logan go,” Joe said. “But if he’d stayed with me, he might never have met you, Ashley. And then you wouldn’t have created this wonderful young man here.”
Ben shifted from one foot to another, embarrassed with three sets of adult eyes trained on him. Joe offered his hand, and Ben extended his tentatively. “I’ve heard so many good things about you from Grant, Ben,” Joe said, smiling warmly.
Taken aback by the kind words, Ben abruptly withdrew his hand and returned it to his pocket. Remembering his late night with Nick and Dylan, Ben hoped he didn’t smell like pot now that he was standing by the uniformed man.
“Please join us,” Grant offered, and Joe and Grant scooted down the bench to make room for mother and son.
The priest, dressed in a black cope, began singing the introit, signaling the start of the requiem mass. Grant laid his hand reassuringly on Ben’s knee, and both looked to the altar, where the coffin rested.
The priest welcomed the congregation, then began a prayer. Mired in choking sadness, Grant was barely aware of what was happening.
Ashley rose and made her way to the pulpit for the first reading. She drew a deep breath, leaned toward the microphone, and with a trembling voice began reading from Romans 12.
Let love be without pretense. Avoid what is evil; stick to what is good. In brotherly love let your feelings of deep affection for one another come to expression and regard others as more important than yourself. In the service of the Lord, work not halfheartedly but with conscientiousness and an eager spirit. Be joyful in hope, persevere in hardship; keep praying regularly; share with any of God’s holy people who are in need; look for opportunities to be hospitable. Bless your persecutors; never curse them, bless them. Rejoice with others when they rejoice and be sad with those in sorrow. Give the same consideration to all others alike. Pay no regard to social standing, but meet humble people on their own terms. Do not congratulate yourself on your own wisdom. Never pay back evil with evil, but bear in mind the ideals that all regard with respect. As much as possible, and to the utmost of your ability, be at peace with everyone.
Carlo tensed beside his father, then quickly recomposed his face in a look of appropriate sadness. Ashley’s eyes glistened with tears as she returned to the pew.
The priest began the responsorial psalm, and Grant’s mind drifted from present to past and back. He tried to focus on the priest’s voice, on the words of the twenty-third Psalm, on the steadying presence of his uncle beside him—but he kept remembering. He was twelve years old again, attending his mother’s funeral at the exact same church.
Grant had stood outside the church, alone in his grief. The big, strong men had just eased Karita’s coffin into the hearse, and Grant watched Uncle Joe gruffly take Uncle Angelo aside, appearing to exchange tense words. Logan snuck away from the hearse and miserably slouched against the stone wall.
Carefully, timidly, falteringly, Grant crept toward his brother. He had not seen Logan for four whole years, and the seventeen year old was now huge, probably six feet tall, towering over Grant.
“Lo?” His voice sounded frustratingly small and needy.
Logan looked down. “Hey.”
They stood quietly for a few moments, neither knowing what to say. Grant hesitantly backed up and leaned his shorter body against the wall, nestling himself beside Logan. Their substitute fathers continued to quarrel near the hearse, and when Joe pointed his index finger toward Angelo’s chest, two beefy men stepped forward to flank the don.
“Your Uncle Joe looks pretty pissed off,” Logan said.
“He’s your uncle too,” Grant pointed out.
“Nah, he wants nothing to do with me.”
Grant frowned. He’d often overheard his mother and Joe lament losing Logan to Angelo, and it seemed more like Logan wanted nothing to do with them. Gulping, Grant asked, “Lo? How come you didn’t visit Mom in the hospital?”
Logan exhaled loudly and licked his bottom lip. Grant wondered why his brother seemed to have trouble breathing.
“She kept asking for you,” Grant added, having no idea how his words sliced through his brother’s heart.
“I didn’t know she was going to die!” Logan said, clenching his fists.
“Oh.”
Grant chewed on his lip, wondering if he should ask his next question. Logan was in a horrible mood, but Grant didn’t know when he would see him again.
Finally mustering the courage, he asked, “Lo?”
“What?”
“Um, will you, um … will you come live with me and Joe now? Please?”
The lines around Logan’s mouth tightened. “I can’t.”
“Uncle Ange won’t let you?”
“No, that’s not it. I, uh, I can’t live with you ‘cause,” Logan swallowed guiltily, “’cause I have to go to juvie. My sentence starts tomorrow.”
“What’s juvie?”
“Dunno. Juvenile detention or something like that. It’s like jail for kids.”
Gasping, Grant asked, “Do you gotta go to jail with Dad?”
Logan smiled at his worried brother. “No, he’s in an adult facility. Juvie’s different.”
After a couple of seconds Grant asked, “Why you gotta go?”
Kicking at a rock, Logan looked down. Eventually he muttered, “’Cause I got caught selling drugs.”
Grant’s mouth formed a small “o” and he remarked automatically, “Drugs are bad.”
Logan found himself smiling. “That’s right, Grantey. Drugs are bad.”
Joe hollered for Grant, interrupting the brothers’ conversation. Looking up at Logan, Grant whispered urgently, “I gotta go.”
“’Kay.” Logan looked really sad. “Be good, Grant.”