The first Friday of the year, at five in the afternoon, Michael, dressed in his nicest black work suit and a cheerful green tie, stood at the front of a small yet ornate chapel. The last bit of waning sunlight streamed scarlet through the stained-glass windows and cast irregular patches of light on the pale stone floor. Nervously, he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants legs and then froze, realizing how uncouth that must look to the handful of guests scattered throughout the room.
He locked eyes with Sheridan's mother, who winked at him, and then with Davontay, who sat with his arm around a petite, dreamy-eyed Hispanic woman. A few other professors had been in town and joined them. His friend Caroline Jones and her boyfriend, a not-so-tall man sat holding hands and smiling. They’ve had a
