Fifteen
RICHARD DAVENPORT, having indicated the photographs he wanted displayed and been promised that the album would be well taken care of, leaves the Rectory about 4 p.m.
I walk into Anna’s office. “Here,” I say, handing her the album. “Can you scan the photos marked with the stickys and send them to be printed?”
“Of course,” she says. She begins to flip through the album. “When’s the funeral?”
“Next Wednesday. I know that’s not a lot of time—”
“Oh, I’ll make sure Jeremy gets it done. I went to school with his mother. That’s why he gives us such a good rate.”
I’m about to make a comment about not knowing what I’d do without her when she turns the page and gasps. “Tom, this is Gladys,” she says with surprise.
“Yes. She and Richard had a . . . relationship. But you knew that alread
