“We are preparing to secure the lid now, Emily,” Mr. Henderson said, his voice a low murmur that barely carried over the shuffling feet of the congregation leaving for their cars.
“Not yet,” I said, stepping between him and the door to the sanctuary. “We need fifteen minutes.”
He looked past me to where Uncle Robert was shaking hands with the county commissioner, talking about a new zoning variance on the east side of town. “Your uncle said we should keep to the schedule.”
“My grandmother gave me specific instructions,” I said.
My collarbone was itching under my blouse, and I pressed my thumb against it to stop the movement.
“She wanted something placed inside with her,” I said, though that was not the whole truth.
Grandma Nancy had called me to her bedside at the hospice three days before she died, her fingers gripping my wrist with a strength that surprised both of us. She had made me promise, without my mother or Uncle Robert in the room, that I would find the old brown handbag in her closet before the casket was closed.
Mr. Henderson pulled a silver pocket watch from his vest. “Ten minutes, then. The cars are already lining up on Maple Street.”
I turned to find my mother, but she was already standing near the glass exit doors, her eyes fixed on the gray pavement outside.
Her hand was still moving, turning the cracked face of her silver watch toward the light, then away.
Aunt Susan stepped up beside her, smoothing her floral apron once more. “It is going to be a long afternoon at the graveside, Carol, if you know what I mean.”
My mother did not answer, merely adjusting her watch in that same slow, rhythmic circle.
The wind was coming off the creek, carrying the smell of wet pavement and the dry, scraping sound of oak leaves dragging across the blacktop. Uncle Robert caught up with me just as I reached the gravel path leading toward the parking lot.
“Emily,” he called, his leather shoes crunching on the stone. “Where are you heading in such a hurry, kiddo?”
