Momma cleared her throat. “I think we should all go to the funeral. After all, we are their neighbors.”

What Momma really meant, and she had not taken this position often, was that she wanted to be there if anyone tried to corner me or blame me. I had my mother and sister on my side.

“Dial Suzanne for me,” Momma said.

Leslie did and handed Momma the phone. Momma got up and headed to her bedroom to have a private conversation.

“Momma’s sweet on Suzanne, whose real name is Buster.”

“No kidding?”

“Yeah. Like seriously sweet.”

“Wow.”

The next morning at nine thirty, we piled into Leslie’s Benz and rolled down Middle Street to Stella Maris Church. The bells in the tower were ringing a mournful dirge.

Everyone on the island loved a good funeral, and given the circumstances of Sharon’s death, it was no surprise that the church was packed to the rafters. And it was the second time Archie and his boys were burying someone in a short period of time. I recognized many people from part-time teaching at the Island Elementary School, and I assumed there were a lot of Archie’s colleagues present as well. There were many massive flower arrangements on the altar and the tone was appropriately somber.

Archie and his boys followed the casket up the aisle and were seated in the front row on the left. We were in the back of the other side of the church. Momma and Leslie were giving tiny smiles of recognition and little waves to people whose eye they caught. I was engrossed in prayer and self-examination. I was deeply troubled by the reality of Sharon’s funeral and the fact that whether or not I was directly or indirectly involved, there was still suspicion, even in my own conscience, that some of the responsibility for her death lay at my feet. I knew that in the weirdest way it was true. I begged God’s forgiveness. And I even asked God to forgive Sharon. That was the best I could do for her. If the situation were reversed, I doubted she would pray for me. And I prayed for Carin then, too, hoping that she’d ask the good Lord to forgive me. I knew that she had no anger toward me. In fact, I could still feel her gratitude.

Finally, the Mass was ended and the processional took Sharon’s casket to the waiting hearse, which would then take her remains to be buried in Mount Pleasant. I watched as Archie and his boys walked together, followed by her parents and close friends and family. It had to be an awful ordeal for his boys, as I was sure they were reliving their mother’s funeral.