“Is that her?” Arthur called from the side aisle, his hands shaking against his jacket buttons as he took a step forward.

I didn’t turn around to look at Arthur, and I didn’t look back at the polished casket on its cart.

The woman in the navy suit stepped out of the back pew to meet me in the aisle.

She didn’t say my name, and I didn’t say hers.

We walked together to the last row of pews, where the shadows lay thick by the heavy oak doors.

The rest of the congregation was filing down the aisle toward the front exit, talking about the heat and the covered dishes waiting in the fellowship hall.