Six- thirty the next morning, Gebriel and I were on our way to Cleveland, of all places. Jude met us at the plane. He wasn’t how I had imagined him. He wasn’t flabby, middle-aged, Irish Catholic. He was intense, sharp boned, maybe thirty-eight, and black.
“You are younger than I though.” He smiled at me.
I smiled back. “ and you are definitely less Irish.”
On the way into town, he brought us up to speed. “Groom’s from Seattle. Had something to do with the music business. Worked with the rock bands. Producer. . . Marketing guy. Bride grew in Ohio. Shaker Heights. Father’s a corporate attorney. Girl was cute, redhead, freckles, glasses.”
He pulled a Manila envelope off the dashboard and tossed it over to me in the passenger seat. Inside were a series of glossy eight by elevens of the cri
