AS I’M LEAVING THE Beckets, Rick pulls into the driveway. A young woman about his age, with long blond hair, hops out of the passenger side and comes around the front, taking Rick’s offered hand. They walk up to the porch, smiling.
Rick’s smile disappears when he sees me.
“Hello, Rick,” I say, offering my hand.
“Father Tom,” he says, looking appropriately mournful. “Were you talking to Mom and Frank?”
“Yes, we were discussing some details about the funeral. It’ll be Friday at 10:30 a.m. A full Mass, reception in the basement of the church.”
“I’m sure Frank appreciates that,” he says, his eyes downcast.
I look at his friend. “I don’t believe we’ve met?” I say.
“Oh, sorry. Father Tom, this is Elisia Drakes. She’s a . . . well, she’s my girlfriend.”
“Oh, well,” I say. “Very nice to me
