Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood by Jerry B. Jenkins Page B

can use anyone he wants to.”
    The visit to the funeral home was every bit the ordeal Boone had feared, though the owner seemed to do what he could to make it easier. They settled on a late Friday morning service at the church, and Boone chose a triple burial site at a nearby memorial garden—leaving space for himself. The man walked Boone through all the logistics and charges, then guided him through a room full of casket choices. Boone couldn’t get out of there fast enough. Given a few options, he shrugged and looked to Francisco, who said, “That looks fine,” and Boone immediately agreed.
    Toughest was seeing the tiny caskets for babies. How was one supposed to select something like that? Boone began to pant, shook his head, and said, “I can’t do this. Pastor, just point to one and we’ll go with it.”
    Sosa gestured toward a pure white box that was so small it made Boone hurt just to look at it. He nodded. “Let’s get out of here. If something has to be signed, just do it for me, okay?”
    The pastor whispered to the funeral director, “You have the church’s guarantee. Just see to everything.”
    Back in front of the apartment, Sosa told Boone when to meet with him Friday morning and what to tell the family about where to be. “I’ll handle the coordination with the Chicago PD. I’ve already heard from your mother.”
    “No surprise. What did she want?”
    “Just wanted to be sure you weren’t neglecting anything. I assured her we were working together. She was most interested to know who was singing.”
    “I don’t even know that.”
    “I assumed you wanted me to handle it. You gave me those two songs, and I’ve got the lyrics typeset so we can project them. But you know the college girl who worked with Nikki in the nursery?”
    “Yeah, Cheryl something?”
    “Schmidt. She’s a singer and said she’d be honored.”
    “Perfect.”
    “You’ll spend some time with your family now, won’t you?”
    “She talk to you about that too?”
    “Said you were being independent.”
    Boone cocked his head. “That’s fair. Everybody else, my brothers and other relatives, are all just waiting to hear the date and time, and they’ll come in the night before.”
    “That’s nice.”
    “I hadn’t thought of it as nice. Nice would have been having them come for some happy occasion where Nikki and Josh could have been part of it. Now, every time I think of something I need to say or do, the first person I think to call is Nikki.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    Boone could see he was wearing on the pastor. He hadn’t meant to become so high maintenance. But he was through pretending, too.
    “Try to let your family grieve too, Boone. As hard as it’s going to be, it’s important that they know you at least appreciate their coming, right?”
    Boone nodded miserably. “But having to entertain them the night before, you know . . .”
    “I don’t think anyone expects that. They’ll want to see you, sure. But they’ll understand that you’re in deep waters.”
    Boone snorted. “That’s exactly what it feels like.”
    “Would it bother you if I prayed for you right now?”
    “Would it bother you if I said I’d rather you not?”
    “No, I understand. I don’t need to pray in front of you. But I want you to know that I will pray for you. And I’ll leave you alone until Friday morning if that’s really what you want. You need me for anything, you know where I am.”

9
    The Memorial
    Until the day of the funeral, Boone made himself miserable, drinking himself to sleep every night, suffering hangovers every morning, and spending his days walking the streets or strolling the North Avenue Beach. He had never been much for idle time. He liked doing things, accomplishing something. All walking the beach accomplished was to bring back painful memories.
    A year before, he and Nikki had brought one-year-old Josh to this very beach for the first time. Joshie had sat on a blanket, slathered in sunblock,