Trenton released Travis’s shirt and took a few steps back.

Shepley patted his back. “It could have been you. It could’ve been Abby, or James, or Jess, or Ezra, or Mare. And we would’ve never known it was coming.”

Tyler tucked his chin with a confused look on his face. “What are you saying, Shep? That what happened to Thomas was lucky for the rest of us?”

“Of course not,” Shepley said.

“He’s saying what happened to Thomas shouldn’t have been our warning,” Trenton said. “We should have all been notified and ready the moment Travis was embedded in the fucking mafia as a spy.”

Tyler wrinkled his nose. “You’re going to blame Travis for this? He didn’t ask for this. He’s just playing the hand he was dealt, man. So stow that shit before you say something else you’re gonna regret.”

“He’s not going to regret asking questions,” Shepley said. “If we had done that years ago, maybe we wouldn’t be planning a funeral.”

Travis seemed hurt that Shepley was taking Trenton’s side. “Really?” Travis asked.

Shepley patted Trenton on the shoulder, showing his allegiance.

“You’re my best friend,” Travis said in disbelief.

“You’re wrong on this one, Trav. We have a right to be upset about what you’ve done,” he said.

“If you don’t mind,” Jim said, scooting his chair to the table again. “I’ve got some plans to make. If you do mind, you’re going to have to leave. This funeral’s not gonna plan itself.”

“No,” Mr. Baird said, straightening his tie with a nervous twitch in his eye. “No, it is not.”

The boys sat down, and Jim looked each of them in the eye. “Not another word. I mean it.”

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

“Ladies?” Jim said, looking at America, Camille, and Falyn.

They all nodded.

It felt strange to me, even after a decade of sobriety, not to be included in the calling out of bad behavior. It was even stranger to feel proud and validated.

“Okay, then.” He turned another page, and Liis pulled her chair next to his, looking over urns like nothing had happened.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CAMILLE

JIM CHOSE TO HAVE THE FUNERAL at the high school auditorium. The attendance would be too many people to fit into any of the small churches in Eakins. People were standing against the wall in the back and along the sides. Fellow Eastern alumni, former high school friends, and football teammates. The stage looked like a mini botanical garden, surrounded the urn with plants, sprays, and bouquets. One wreath wore a sash that said son, another father, another husband. I was sitting in the second row directly behind Liis, unable to stop watching her for any reaction. She sat stoic, and the few times she looked back to scan the crowd in disbelief, she looked uncomfortable and a bit ashamed.

Sniffling and muffled conversation filled the silence, the acoustics amplifying the crowd’s pain. It was unbelievable how many knew and cared about Thomas. Even his FBI colleagues were present, taking up the three rows behind the family. The director sat behind Travis and reached up to pat his shoulder.

Jack stood up and, with Shepley’s help, carefully climbed the stairs to the stage. With folded notebook paper in hand, he stood behind the podium. The paper crackled as he unfolded it, and then he cleared his throat.

“My brother asked me to read this letter for him. I’m not convinced I can get through it myself, so please bear with me.” He fished his glasses from his jacket pocket and placed them on his face, pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

“My dearest Thomas,” he began, pausing for a moment before he continued, “you are my firstborn, and that means you and I spent quite a bit of time together alone before your brothers came along. We bonded in a unique way, and I’m not sure … I’m not sure how I’ll move on with my life without you. But I’ve said that before.

“I remember the moment you were born. The first time I held you in my arms. You were a tiny giant. Your arms flailed, and you screamed, and I was both filled with pride and terrified. Raising another human being is a harrowing responsibility, but you made it easy. When your mother died, and I was overwhelmed with my own grief, you took over. And that was an easy transition for you because when the twins were born, you used to insist on being the other pair of arms to hold either Taylor or Tyler. You used to follow Trenton around with a Kleenex, and you orbited Travis like he would break at any moment. I’ve never seen a young boy fawn over babies the way you did, and I was looking forward to watching you do that with your daughter.

“When you were eleven, I took you hunting. We’d shot guns before, and you were pretty good at it, but that particular morning was rainy and cold, and you decided you’d wait in the truck. I trudged out to my favorite spot and wiped the rain out of my eyes for two hours, chilled all the way to the bone, wishing you were bearing that miserable, foggy morning with me. I didn’t see a single doe. And then I heard a shot, and then another. I gathered my gear and ran back to the truck as fast as I could, nearly slipping in the mud when I stopped to see you inspecting your kill. I’ll be damned if you didn’t get your first buck that year—a twelve-point, nearly dry and warm while I’d been sitting in the freezing rain. I should have known then that you knew what you were doing; that you had your mother’s intuition and not just her eyes.

“When Diane passed, you never asked me what to do, you just knew, as if she were whispering in your ear. You rocked Travis to sleep, you calmed Trenton, and you dressed the twins in matching outfits like your mother used to. You combed their hair and made sure they were clean for school, no matter how many times you had to scrub them before you led them onto the bus. You took care of everyone else, and then you went and did what you wanted to do, and I can’t be prouder, son. I really can’t.

“I wish we could have had one more evening at the dining table with a hand of cards, talking about the world and how amazed you are by the mother of your child. I’d do anything to listen to you talk about your future and your job, even if you couldn’t tell us everything. I don’t know why this happened to you, the most careful of us, the surest of his footing, the most prepared. You were the strongest. But thinking about you finally able to hug your mom’s neck again gives me comfort in a way I can’t describe. I know her death was hardest on you, not because of the burden you embraced, but because out of all the boys, you’d loved your mother the longest. You never let that get in the way of what she’d asked you to do, though, to take care of your brothers. You never let her down, not even now. I would give anything to take your place so you can be here with your wife and raise your daughter because I know you’d be a damn good father, just as you were a good son. I’m going to miss you as much as I’ve missed your mother, and I know just how much that’s going to hurt.