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le, Alabama, and picked up twenty-eight people, turned around, and made three more stops on the way back to Atlanta to gather whoever wanted to get to the funeral to mourn the dead. There were three choirs, two pastors, and a full reception with a band.
By the time they made it to the burial, the mourners were more psychologically fatigued than a group of freshman heading home from their first spring break in Jamaica.
Jamison’s shoulders were so low. At some point, he’d stopped crying. Maybe his eyes were too swollen. At the burial, he sat in the front row with Tyrian beside him looking around awkwardly at everyone crying and tugging at his tie.
Once it was announced that in the order of all natural things, ashes had been returned to ashes and dust to dust, Jamison got up not knowing where he was or how he’d get home. Through the stops of the day, he’d been depending on a series of tugs and pulls at his sleeve explaining that his car was over there, it was time to get to the church, his seat was up front, he had to read the eulogy. But after the burial, it seemed everyone was dispersing back into their own worlds. The sisters with their promises of care now had their husbands and their children. The shipped-in mourners were getting back on the bus. Kerry came up and retrieved Tyrian, kissed her ex-husband on the cheek, and said she was sorry, she was really sorry. Jamison was about to say something to her—perhaps it was about the gun in the nightstand—but he decided not to.
When he thought he was all alone in the world, he turned and behind him was his assistant.
Leaf said, “I think I’ll drive you home. I know you can’t stand being in that funeral car. It’s too damn slow. We can speed all the way to your house if you want. That cool?”
Jamison actually smiled and said yes before sharing a masculine hug with his new friend.
“Jamison, I’m glad I caught you!” an excessively friendly voice with the octave register of an older white man interrupted the moment.
“Governor Cade, how are you?” Jamison and Leaf fumbled these words into one big group greeting before taking turns shaking Cade’s hand.
“Thanks for coming. I thought I saw you at the church earlier,” Jamison said. He’d only seen Cade a few times since he’d been in office. They’d had lunch at the governor’s mansion once, and Jamison thought he was a nice man, one who held his cards close to his chest and had eyes with secrets. There was nothing on him that made Jamison consider him one way or the other. They disagreed on policy, but they were from different worlds. That kind of polarity wasn’t uncommon in Southern politics. It was actually what had made the transition through the ages.
“Yes, I had to come when I heard about your mother passing. Had to come and give my condolences in person,” Cade said. “That’s how we did it in the old days. None of this emailing and stuff. My wife actually sent a cake over to your house.”
“Yes, I got it.”
“I hear your mother was a good Christian woman. Had a church home. Served on the usher board for many years.”
“Yes.”
“Well, we know where she went then. Praise the Lord.”
“Yes-yes,” Jamison stuttered. “I’m sure that’s true.”
“Well, you rest in faith,” Cade said, reaching out and clutching Jamison’s shoulder. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” He looked at Leaf with polite suspicion. “Alone?”
“Sure. Leaf, can you go and get the car? I’ll catch up.”
“As you wish,” Leaf agreed.
Cade used his grasp to pull Jamison toward him.
“I know this isn’t the best time,” he said, “but I just wanted to make sure we’re still on the same page about this WorkCorps thing.”
“WorkCorps?”
“Yes. Judge Lindsey spoke to you about it, right? Now I know some time has passed and you’ve been through a lot with your mother and your child passing, but I hope I’ll still have your signature on that. Right?”
“I haven’t promised anything to anyone.”
“Lindsey said you’d back it. Now that we got that other terrible business with Ras out of the way, we can move forward.”
“Honestly, I haven’t thought much about it. Where’s the logic? Putting young men to work in minimum-wage jobs?”
“Any work is good work,” Cade pointed out.
“Would you work for minimum wage?”
“I went to college, son. And so did you.”
“Then where’s the program for that?” Jamison asked. “Those young men will be grown men one day, with families and homes. They can’t do anything with just a trade. Not more than the minimum. That’s no way to set anyone up. I don’t know.”
