Grief smelled of onions, cheese, and cream of something soup. Multiple tables groaned under the weight of death casseroles along one wall of the church fellowship hall. The scent of it wafted over as Harrison Wilkes walked in, simultaneously curdling his stomach and making it growl. A quick scan of the room told him the widow hadn’t made it over from the cemetery yet, but he spotted the man he’d come to support hovering near the dessert table. Careful not to make eye contact with the other mourners, Harrison wove his way through the crowd.
If possible, Ty looked worse than he had during the service. But then, he was here against medical advice and had served as a pall bearer. Sweat beaded along his brow. His shoulder had to be hurting like a son of a b***h from over-exertion.
“Sit your
