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Steer clear of his wife?
Oh, no. Does she think?
“No, I’m not—” I call after her, but she’s already gone. Great. If this place is like the small town I grew up in, word will get around that I’m Jeremiah’s mistress before the eulogy’s over.
I wander farther inside toward the glow of a mounted TV screen playing a slow montage of photos. A shirtless Jeremiah poses with a can of Miller Lite on the dock of a river. Unlike his brother, he’s tanned with dark hair, slicked back. And it looks like he was no stranger at the gym. I tilt my head as I take in the photos. He can’t be much older than me. Maybe even my age. Handsome too. A photo of him leaning against the tail of a black F-150. The license plate reads PUMPIN. I raise an eyebrow. What does that mean? The photo fades into the next, Jeremiah and a handful of bros pumpin’ fists at a nightclub.
Ah, got it. Perhaps his other woman is from the Jersey Shore instead of the city.
Jeremiah’s people seem to be filing into another room and taking their seats. I glance around for Nick, who’s standing in a corner with his head lowered.
Is he crying?
I hurry over and tap him on the shoulder. “You okay?”
He startles. “Yeah, fine. It’s just weird. He’s like younger than me. One day here and one day...”
“I know. Boom!” I mime an explosion and he startles again.
“Excuse me. Are you Nick Leto?” A woman, whose perfume entered the room before she did, asks. Nearly as tall as Nick, she seems to have caught him with her crystal blue eyes.
“Yeah,” Nick says.
“I’m Holly, Jeremiah’s wife.” She extends her hand as if she wants Nick to kiss it and whisper enchanté.
He takes it and gently lays his other over hers like a Southern pastor. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Yes, it was a shock. He and some of the other guys put on the firework show from a barge out on the lake every year. They get a little drunk out there while they test a few before the big show, but he’s always safe. I mean, a few burns here and there. And then there was that one time his sleeve caught fire but it was fine as soon as he jumped in the lake. That’s why he started goin’ shirtless out there.” Holly’s eyes glisten with tears. “I just never thought something like this could happen to my Jer-bear. I mean, how many people actually die from fireworks?”
“About seven people every year in the U.S.”
Holly and Nick gape at me.
“I looked it...” Not the place to cite a Google search. “Never mind. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“He was only thirty years old,” she continues. “There’s so many things he didn’t get to do. We didn’t even get a chance to start our family yet.” She sniffles back tears. “Anyway, we better get in there. Thank you again, Nick, for showing up. It would have meant so much to him.”
“Of course,” Nick says. “Happy to do it.”
Nick and I settle near the back on a cold, hard wooden pew. Aren’t funerals uncomfortable enough without the sixteenth-century furniture?
“I can’t believe we’re doing this.”
“Did you have a bad experience at a wake or something?” Nick asks.
“No,” I say, though I’m not sure it’s totally true. My phone rings again. Imani for the second time. This time I send her a text.
OLIVIA:I’ll call you later.
After a quick introduction, the emcee (if that’s what they’re called at a funeral) starts the show. “Now we have a special guest. Nick Leto, Jeremiah’s favorite comedian, is here and he’d like to tell a few jokes in his honor.”
“Wish me laughs,” he says out of the side of his mouth, and rises to his feet. The knot in my stomach tightens more and more the closer he gets to the stage. The room is silent. Yikes, a dead crowd is never a good start.
Nick takes the mic. “Good morning, Mississippi! You ready to liven up this funeral?” Oh, no. “I didn’t know Jeremiah but from what I can tell he was a great guy. A guy who loved to laugh, is that right?” The crowd nods and throws yeses his way. “I’m told that if Jeremiah were here, he’d want to hear some jokes, so what do you say? Can we share some laughs for him?” Everyone agrees and Nick begins.
My phone vibrates in my hands again. No surprise, it’s Imani. This time, I get a sinking feeling in my gut. Something might be wrong. I better take this. I quickly sneak out the back and walk outside into the sweltering Southern heat.
“Hey, Imani, everything okay?” I answer.
