Still later that night, I took her home and kissed her good night.

It was a perfect first kiss. Gentle, slightly lingering, hinting of more, much more.

23

Laura and I were headed to Tallahassee beneath a bank of gray rain clouds.

Thunder rumbled in the distance.

We were on Highway 20 in Dad’s new Ford Explorer—borrowed because my old Chevy S-10 was too rough a ride for a day date to Tallahassee.

Laura, who was far less talkative today, looked regal in her long, fitted black dress. Hair down, small gold loop earrings, a single gold chain around her neck. Understated. Devastating.

“When are you going to tell me why we’re dressed like this?” she asked.

I was wearing a black Mark Alexander suit with a gray pinstripe, a black shirt with an Episcopal collar, and black wing tip shoes.

“Did you bring a change of clothes?” I asked.

“Yes, but that doesn’t answer my question.”

So far I had learned that she is working at FedEx while finishing up her master’s degree in counseling at FSU. She and her dad live in Tallahassee, though not together, her mom and sister in Pottersville, where she visits most weekends. Her mom teaches school and is the sister of the wealthy Pottersville Bank president, and her sister Kim plans to attend TCC in the fall.

“You don’t like surprises?” I asked.

“No. Not really.”

I nodded. “We are going out to eat and to listen to jazz in the park and to spend a leisurely afternoon in our state’s beautiful capital after the funeral of an inmate who was killed on Monday.”

“You’re taking me to a funeral on our first date? I hate funerals.”

“Don’t know anybody who loves them.”

The sides of the highway, like every highway in rural Northwest Florida, were lined with rows and rows of slash pines. Occasionally, when the sun peeked out from the gathering rain clouds, it shone just above and behind the rows of trees, causing them to cast shadows across the highway that looked like prison bars.

“I arranged for you to stay with some friends of mine during the funeral if you don’t want to go. Or I could drop you at the mall. It’ll take less than an hour.”

“You go to a lot of inmates’ funerals?” she said.

“This is my first,” I said. “But I’m new.”

“Why this one?” she asked.

“His family asked me to do it.”

“You’re doing the funeral?” she asked, her eyes widening.

I nodded.

“Did you know the family from before?” she asked.

“I’ve never met them, and if I met the inmate, I don’t remember it.”

She was quiet a moment, and I could tell she was processing all this.

“You’ve been giving me such a hard time I thought it’d be funny to surprise you with a funeral, but you don’t have to go.”