“We ask for peace for those left behind,” he said, his voice dropping low as he looked straight at me.

I didn’t nod.

I didn’t blink.

Arthur shifted in his pew, the old oak creaking under his weight as he glanced at the side door.

He took a gold pocket watch out of his vest, flipped it open and snapped it shut again with a heavy metal click.

“Amen,” Higgins said, three minutes ahead of the printed funeral program.

He leaned out over the wooden edge of the pulpit and looked down at me again, his lower lip trembling.

“Ona, would you like to say a few words about your mother’s devotion to the altar guild?” he asked into the silent room.