The minister looked like a kid. I don’t know how thoroughly he’d been briefed, but he talked about the special tragedy of a life cut short in its prime, and about God’s mysterious ways, and about the survivors being the true victims of such apparently senseless tragedy. He read passages from Emerson, Teilhard de Chardin, Martin Buber, and the Book of Ecclesiastes. Then he suggested that any of Sunny’s friends who wished to might come forward and say a few words.

Donna Campion read two short poems which I assumed she’d written herself. I learned later that they were by Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton, two poets who had themselves committed suicide. Fran Schecter followed her and said, “Sunny, I don’t know if you can hear me but I want to tell you this anyway,” and went on to say how she’d valued the dead girl’s friendship and cheerfulness and zest for living. She started off light and bubbly herself and wound up breaking down in tears, and the minister had to help her off stage. Mary Lou Barcker spoke just two or three sentences, and those in a low monotone, saying that she wished she’d known Sunny better and hoped she was at peace now.

Nobody else came forward. I had a brief fantasy of Joe Durkin mounting the platform and telling the crowd how the NYPD was going to get it together and win this one for the Gipper, but he stayed right where he was. The minister said a few more words—I wasn’t paying attention—and then one of the attendants played a recording, Judy Collins singing “Amazing Grace.”

Outside, Jan and I walked for a couple of blocks without saying anything. Then I said, “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for asking me. God, that sounds foolish. Like a conversation after the Junior Prom. ‘Thanks for asking me. I had a lovely time.’ “ She took a handkerchief from her purse, dabbed at her eyes, blew her nose. “I’m glad you didn’t go to that alone,” she said.

“So am I.”

“And I’m glad I went. It was so sad and so beautiful. Who was that man who spoke to you on the way out?”

“That was Durkin.”

“Oh, was it? What was he doing there?”

“Hoping to get lucky, I suppose. You never know who’ll show up at a funeral.”

“Not many people showed up at this one.”

“Just a handful.”

“I’m glad we were there.”

“Uh-huh.”

I bought her a cup of coffee, then put her in a cab. She insisted she could take the subway but I got her into a cab and made her take ten bucks for the fare.