Page 41 of Slow Burn

The church was as hot as hell’s oven, and Velvet was sweating all over her borrowed clothes. She’d found Robby’s only bright-colored blouse—mustard gold—and the most colorful of her skirts—rust—but the shoes were a disaster. They looked like penny loafers. Velvet stared down at them in resentment while the prayer droned on above her head.

“—And we thank you, O Lord, for your blessings and kindness in this, our hour of loss—”

God hadn’t gone out of his way for Burt, that was for damn sure. She shot a sideways look at Robby, who had her head bowed, too. Robby looked dazed with boredom. Well, how should she have looked? She hadn’t been there. She hadn’t seen him.

“—commend the soul of our brother Burt into your loving hands—”

“Are they always this long-winded?” Robby whispered. There was a stress fracture of Irish in her voice.

“Nope. He’s just clearing his throat. Wait’ll he gets to the actual praying.” Velvet grinned, winced when it dragged at a bruise. “You never been in a church before?”

“Not aProtestantchurch.”

It was a Catholic thing. Velvet rolled her eyes and waited out the prayer, raised her head and twisted it right and left to ease the muscle cramp. She tried not to look at the centerpiece—shiny wood and gold handles—and wound up looking at the carpet again. Old nappy dark red carpet. Appropriate for churches and movie theaters. She scuffed a penny loafer over it and shifted from one cheek to the other on the thin red-velvet pew cushion.

Burt had a lot of friends. The rows ahead of her were full of suits and church ladies, buzz cuts and big hair. In the second pew sat a fat woman wearing black. Three young kids—the oldest a pimply teen-aged boy, the youngest a restlessly squirmy girl—sat close beside her. The only other person on the family pew was a guy, small, neat-looking, weak-chinned. He kept wiping his eyes, although the widow hadn’t shed a tear.

The organ crashed into a hurdy-gurdy version of “Just A Closer Walk With Thee,” and two guys who had the professionally sympathetic look of undertakers got up and collected the red, white, and blue flowers from the casket and hinged open the top.

Velvet sat bolt upright, staring, though she couldn’t see anything but white satin. Jesus, theycouldn’thave an open casket, theycouldn’t.All of a sudden she couldn’t breathe, because she knew she’d smell him. The thought gagged her, but she couldn’t get up to head for the bathroom, she might accidentally see into the—

The first two rows of people stood up. The fat woman waddled past the casket; as far as Velvet could tell, she didn’t even look down. The gawky-looking teenaged boy behind her didn’t, either; he stared right into his mother’s back. The next girl in line did look. She burst into tears, and the kid behind her let out a big hiccuping sob and the two of them ran off out of the sanctuary.

Velvet swallowed hard. The man who’d sat on the end of the family pew stopped at the casket and stared for what seemed like a long time. He sniffled and blew his nose loudly. When he turned to walk away, his eyes met Velvet’s.

He stopped. His mouth dropped open.

She’d never seen him before in her life. She was sure of that. So what? Did she look that much like a hooker? Was everybody looking at her, pointing fingers, whispering?

Nope. Just him. He stared at her.

Velvet looked over at Robby and pointed to the guy, making a question out of her eyebrows. Robby looked and shrugged.

The guy was gone when Velvet glanced back.

The row in front of them stood up. Under cover of their backs, Velvet grabbed up her coat and ducked out, up the blood red aisle, heading for the door. She heard Robby scramble to follow.

“Didn’t you want to pay your respects?” Robby demanded in the vestibule as they shrugged on their coats. Velvet shot her a dirty look. “Then why did you drag me down here?”

Velvet’s hands paused in buttoning her coat. She frowned down at her penny loafers.

“Hell if I know,” she said. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. I just didn’t want to—you know-look at him again.”

The side door to the vestibule opened. Burt’s two daughters came out of the bathroom, still snuffling. They pushed past without an apology.

“I’m sorry about your dad,” Velvet called after them. The younger looked back, surprised.

“Did you know him?” she asked; she sounded sad and miserable and lonely. Velvet stared at her, frozen.Never should have said anything, she kicked herself.Stupid bitch.

“She worked with him,” Robby supplied, and grabbed Velvet’s coat sleeve. “Come on, before you get yourself in bigger trouble.”

The girl waved an awkward goodbye as the door wheezed shut behind them. Velvet shivered in the blast of cold wind.

“You didn’t have to say that,” she snapped. Robby sighed, her breath a white flag.

“I didn’t have to come here at all, you know.”

“Well, why did you?” Velvet demanded. Robby gave her a long level stare.

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