Chapter TwoBlack clouds swirled overhead as the sky wept buckets of tears. How fitting. Irwin Terrell lowered his head, and water rolled off the brim of his black fedora. Pastor Croft read the twenty-third Psalm, his sonorous voice rumbling like thunder. Beside Irwin, Father stood ramrod straight, his face a pale mask of pain and loss. The space around the gravesite was packed with mourners, evidence of Mother’s graciousness and loving kindness, to friends as well as strangers.
A pit formed in Irwin’s stomach. He should have bypassed the cup of coffee he gulped down before the service. Pressing a hand against his middle, he shifted, and his shoes squished in the muddy grass. Urns of bedraggled flowers stood to one side, their syrupy fragrance mingling with the earthy scent emanating from
