Her sister sighed over the phone. “Nora, chill. Remember what your therapist says ‘Don’t shrink. Stand your sacred ground.’ I’m with a drummer. He just finished my tarot—Three of Swords, Nora. He predicted I was going to do some heavy shit today,”

“Except you’re not doing heavy shit, Yanne, you’re with a drummer. I’m doing heavy shit. You’re late.”

“Late for what, exactly? His embalming ceremony? His spirit is no longer with us.”

Nora deployed her favorite weapon. Dead silence.

She could hear her sister squirm.

“The man was barely there for us when he was alive, Nora, and now he expects our punctuality for this pretense?” She pronounced it PreTONSE. If she was over-enunciating, there was a crowd.

“That is not the point. You said you would be here on time. You’re not here on time. Sexing up a drummer is what you are doing.” Her tone was too imperious, she knew. She couldn’t help it with Yanne.

“You need to talk to someone about your sex thing. Your mind is like a sieve that only keeps the dirty stuff.”

“You’re late and that’s not sexy.”

“Time is a circle, Nora, not a line.” She hung up.

Late. Late. Like I knew she would be. Yanne had an infuriating habit of never being there when Nora needed her. There was always some poetry reading or love of her life or social injustice that took precedence over everyone and everything else in her life.

Slipping her phone down into her purse, Nora made a note of all the exits. Then took an inventory of the bathrooms. Did she imagine all the glances? She smoothed the pleated crepe of her dress. It was the most expensive thing she owned. Her father had bought it for her in France and yes, it was yellow, but it was also gorgeous and reminded her of him. But it was too much, the glances told her so. There was a time when she would have been used to the looks. Back when she was semifamous for her athleticism and record-breaking 500-meter races. She had even graced the cover of Track and Field magazine. That was back when her whole life was ahead of her.

But at her father’s funeral? No one would think to approach her here. Right? All of these eyes—it was probably the dress. Daddy always bought her yellow dresses “because it makes your dark skin shine.” Nora had thought, even today, he might like to see her in yellow.