chairs had been set up, most of the furniture cleared out or pushed to the sides. The room was full of women in black and men in dark suits. There was a strong smell of coffee. I could see into the dining room, where there were platters of sandwiches and pastries crowding the table, their edges overlapping.
The closed coffin was at the far side of the room. Were we supposed to be comforted by the luxury of it, the satiny wood, the gleaming brass? Should a coffin beg for admiration? It was an insult to grief. I felt the horror of it in my knees and I would have fallen if Muddie hadn’t gripped my arm right then. I turned and counted the spoons lined up next to Angela’s fine china cups and saucers until I felt like I wouldn’t faint.
Something took me over, an underwater feeling. Sound was muffled. This wasn’t real, my feet moving on the carpet, the people moving away as we passed, parting in front of us like a school of balletic blackfish.
Nate sat in the corner, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him. Three men in suits sat with him, men I didn’t recognize. Their hard glances put up a wall between us and Nate.
Da went up. We clustered behind him. “Benny,” he said. “I am sorry for your loss. He was a grand boy, and a hero. I don’t have words for you, just the sympathy of my family.”
Nate stared at him as though Da didn’t exist. Like there was just air where we were standing.
Da hovered uncertainly for a moment, then moved jerkily away. We filed past the coffin, crossing ourselves.
The room fell silent, down to the sniffles and sobs. A heavy presence seemed to be at our backs as we knelt in front of the coffin and bowed our heads. I tried to pray, I tried to think of Billy as I knew him, as I loved him, but I could only think of the silence pressing against us.
After a brief time Da got up, crossed himself again, and started out. We followed in a single line. Past the mourners in back. Past the corner where Nate sat. We only began to breathe again when we hit the sidewalk.
We started down Broadway. No one said a word. The sidewalk was slick with the wet snow and Muddie slid into me, clutching my arm.
We heard quick footsteps behind us and as one, we turned. Nate was heading toward us, quickly, hurrying to catch up with us, crossing his lawn instead of using the walkway. The same three men walked more slowly, keeping him in sight but giving him distance.
He came within a few feet and then stopped, as if coming any closer would contaminate him.
He was clutching something in his hand, a wadded-up mess of newspaper, wet from the snow.
Muddie huddled next to me, her arm still in mine. I pressed it. Jamie moved closer to Da. We felt the threat, the violence in the way Nate stood, feet apart, breathing heavily.
In a motion so quick it caught us off guard he threw the wadded-up paper at Da. It hit his face and fell to the sidewalk. Da didn’t flinch.
I saw part of a headline.
WILLIAM BENEDICT DEAD IN NYC TRAIN DISAS
“He was in the first car,” Nate said. His voice shook.
Yes. He always liked to ride in the first car.
“He was decapitated.” The word was torn from his throat, it shredded in the telling, and yet I saw and felt it like he’d struck me. Muddie cried out. I thought of the coffin, the lid closed, and I felt sick.
“They wouldn’t let me see him. They had his dog tags. They said a father wouldn’t want to see him.”
I put my hands over my face.
“Benny —” Da started.
“They wouldn’t let me see him!”
I felt terribly sick. Sweat broke out on my forehead. Billy. I couldn’t envision the horror of it. His beauty, his face, his hair, his skin. That last morning in my bed, his slow, sleepy smile.
“You took my son from me,” he said.
Da looked confused. “I —”
“I can trace it all back, you see,” Nate said. “You wouldn’t let me have Delia. I wasn’t good enough for you.”
“That’s not —”
“And then my boy wasn’t good enough for you, either. My boy!” Nate let out a sound so anguished Da took a step forward. Nate held up a hand to stop him.
“You took my heart!” he cried. “And then you