He stopped five feet from my pew and cleared his throat again, straightening his glasses by the corners while he waited for the organist to finish the second verse.

“Ona,” he said, keeping his voice under the sound of the organ.

“It’s time for us to go out to the hearse.”

He tipped his head toward the double doors at the back of the sanctuary and gave me a quick, sharp nod that meant I was supposed to stand up and lead the long line out behind Mama’s casket.

I got up and tugged my scratchy black funeral dress down over my hips.