It was predictably freezing, the kind of January day that was too cold to even think about snowing. After we had our coffee, Cricket, sergeant-like, ushered Wallis and me into a black car bound for Georgetown Presbyterian, then staged us in the narthex, where she checked on our postures, our hair. There we stood, the women the great Senator Gregory Richardson left behind, ready to greet the guests, many of whom no doubt suspected the very belated memorial was a ploy to keep our names in the press. But if any of the invitees minded the photographers outside, capturing their exits from their black cars, they didn’t reveal it. This was DC, after all, and being regarded as one of Gregory’s closest friends had a definite cachet.

My boss was part of the first wave to arrive. Miles was skipping a hearing on financial literacy and retirement, but he said it was fine, nobody would miss him. He took Cricket’s blue-veined hands in his own, looked into her eyes, and told her how sorry he was for our loss, before solemnly choosing a seat in the sanctuary next to the junior senator from Arizona.

Following Miles was the rest of the staff. L.K. complimented me on my dress; Bo said I cleaned up nicely. A handful of years ago, after I’d spent thirty minutes in a fast-fashion fitting room agonizing over the flashiness of a single blouse, I decided only to buy clothes that were white, black, gray, or cream. Little did I know I’d been meticulously preparing my closet for interments.

It wasn’t until the secretary of defense and his wife showed ten minutes later—she standing mute as her husband gave Cricket a brief hug, pursed his lips, and squinted his eyes to assume the look of condolence—that the three of us dropped our formal facades.

“Asshole,” Cricket whispered as he disappeared inside, though her smile remained broad. “Has some nerve showing up here, when he’s been going all over town saying Gregory Richardson owed him money.”

“Dad owed someone money?” Wallis asked.

I glanced at my mother as she reached for another close family friend. My parents had never wanted for anything in their adult lives, but rumors spread like the flu in this town, and I didn’t want a bad germ to spoil her day. The friend, a governor, pecked her on the cheek, then did the same to me and Wallis.

“Of course he didn’t,” Cricket said, turning back to us. “Secretary of defense! Unbelievable. Couldn’t find his own ass with a map, let alone lead the armed forces into battle. It’s like he’s spitting on your father’s grave. And now I’ll have to smile and serve him pound cake at this afternoon’s reception.”