“Yes, please.”

Denny opened the back of the hearse, and all six pallbearers went ohhhhhh. The coffin was a perfect University of Charlemont red with gleaming brass hinges and handles.

“That’ll do,” Lane said. “That’ll do more than just fine.”

They kibitzed for a good twenty minutes, and although Lane got hot in the sun, he wasn’t going to take his coat off. Nope, he could catch on fire and he’d still keep that jacket on—and going by the way the nephews kept wiping their brows with their handkerchiefs, yet none of them took any layers off, either, clearly everybody was in the same boat.

After all, when Lane went to his royal reward, the last thing he needed was Miss Aurora scolding him at the pearly gates for not being dressed right at her funeral.

About ten minutes before things were supposed to get started, the Reverend Nyce came out of a side exit.

“Are we ready?” the good man said, Bible in hand, flowing red robes making him look like a saint.

“We are.” Lane accepted the man’s embrace. “I know she’s watching us.”

“You bet she is.” The reverend smiled and greeted each of the nephews by name. “Now, I’m going to ask you to bring her in this door here. Then go up the ramp and you’ll be off to the side in the narthex. As I get the congregation settled, I want you to take her to the closed doors that lead into the church proper. I’ll give the sign, those doors will open, and I want you to escort her all the way down to the altar. You will be seated on the left in the front row.”

“Yessir,” Lane said.

“We clear?”

When there was a collective agreement, the reverend took his leave, and Lane lined up with the others at the back of the hearse, three on each side.

Denny said, “She’s going to come out headfirst, so, Lane, you’re here. Okay, let’s bring her out. She’s going to be heavy, so be prepared.”

As her son, Lane assumed the front right corner, and Denny was correct, he was surprised by how much the coffin weighed. With slow, coordinated movements, the six of them took their grips sequentially as the coffin was pulled out, and then they were moving together, heading for a door held open by one of the men’s wives.

Lane just nodded at the woman as he went in. He wanted to say something pleasant, but his heart was pounding and his eyes were itching.

He hadn’t expected to get emotional now.

Inside the church, the cool air felt good, and it cleared his mind some, but then he had to focus to get the coffin on the gurney. One of the assistant pastors added a beautiful satin sash, and then another of the wives put an arrangement of red and white roses on the top as well.

And then they were rolling Miss Aurora up the ramp.

It was impossible not to contrast everything around him and inside him with what it had been like to inter his father. Then it had been a chore to execute, something to check off a list, for the sole reason that he didn’t want a damn dead person’s ashes in the house.

And the whole thing had had all the internal resonance of a trip to the grocery store.

Now, though, as he walked with the other men, head bowed, hand locked on that brass bar like he could bend the metal, he wasn’t sure how he was going to keep it together.

Things got even harder as they positioned her at the closed double doors that would open into the sanctuary. Through the stained-glass sections, he could see a thousand people seated in the pews, and there were still more folks standing against the walls, every square inch of the huge space full.

And how beautiful it all was: candles lit, flowers abounding, the altar shimmering with the glow of heaven above.

I’m not ready—oh, shit, I’ve got to get ready—

Lane tried to take a couple of breaths.

Except then it was go time, the doors opening wide, the music starting to play, the two-hundred-person choir in their red robes starting to sway back and forth behind the altar.

The music was what saved him.

As the first strains of “God Is Keeping Me” began to play, he had to smile. They had thrown out the playbook for Miss Aurora, and he was so glad. She had been a member of the choir here for years herself; the music had always been her favorite part of the service and this was one of her most-loved gospel songs—

Suddenly, something registered. The male voice . . . the male voice that led the choir . . .

Lane nearly tripped halfway down the aisle.

Standing in front of the singers, in a choir robe—with a clean-shaven face and trimmed hair—was Max. And he had his eyes closed, his head tilted back, his mouth open, that microphone held in place, his incredible voice overpowering even all the other big ones around him.

Lane pulled a discreet pass of the eyes with his handkerchief, and then he and his brother met stares across the congregation.

Thumbs-up was given and received by a nod before Max went on to the next verse.

So many faces in the crowd, the sadness in each of them palpable, men and women alike wiping tears away. There were people Miss Aurora had trained in her kitchen—a new generation of chefs—and fellow singers, and cousins and distant cousins, and friends and acquaintances from church and U of C basketball games. There were folks that Lane didn’t recognize, and others he thought of as family, and old friends he hadn’t seen for years.

As they stopped in front of the altar, Lane took a moment to look at everyone who had gathered on a workday, having taken the time to get dressed and bring even their small children, just to pay their respects.

He was hard-pressed to think that any of them judged her harshly for what she had done to his father. She was a good force in the world who had taken a piece of evil out of it—hell, maybe his father wouldn’t have survived that stroke, anyway. But either way, Miss Aurora had watched the abuse, witnessed the reign of terror, lived with the sadness and fear in that house and the family for as long as she could take it.

And then, as was her way, she had done something about it.

Lane thought of his mother and Gary McAdams. Of Edward and Sutton, now happy. Of himself and Lizzie, and Gin making peace with Amelia and coming forward, finally, with the news of Samuel T.’s parentage.

Indeed, Miss Aurora had reset the family . . . after William had run roughshod over it for a generation’s length of time.

So no, Lane decided as he was overwhelmed by the size of the crowd, the depth of the love, the breadth of the mourning. Neither he, nor anyone else, blamed his momma for taking care of her family, any more than they mourned a man who had gotten exactly what he deserved.

You tell me who was the sinner and who was the saint, Lane thought as he went to sit down next to Lizzie. Who was poor . . .

. . . and who died richer beyond measure.

FORTY-TWO

After the conclusion of the service, Lane and the pallbearers escorted Miss Aurora back out and returned her to the hearse. Then Lane led a mile-long procession of cars, all with their lights on, on a winding course of streets to Kinderhook, a cemetery located on the far edge of the west end.

The Toms family was so big that they had their own section of markers, and Lane parked and got out beside it, searching for Edward and Sutton as Lizzie, Amelia, and Gin disembarked. When he saw his brother, he waved the man over.

“Beautiful service,” Edward said as they hugged.

Sutton nodded. “Just lovely. So moving. Hey, Lizzie, Gin . . . hello, Amelia.”

The sound of a powerful motorcycle coming in got everyone’s attention, and Lane shook his head as Max parked the bike and dismounted. The black jeans were right. And for Max, the button-down shirt was a miracle: It had no holes and was very clean.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Lane said as the guy walked over to the group. “And nice haircut.”

Max’s eyes bounced around some. And then he seemed to force himself to focus. “I don’t know, I guess I wanted to come and say good-bye properly.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” Lane clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Max said his hellos, and then it was time for them to join the others by the awning that had been set up over the open grave.

While they crossed onto the grass, Lane leaned in to the guy. “So you’re staying, huh.”