Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

“Minister,” he corrected for the second time that week, and tucked the small organizer back into his pocket.

“Same thing.” She reached out and lightly touched his cheek with the tips of her fingers. Then she turned around and hurried down the hallway.

He wished he could see her face, assumed it was blushing as much as his own.

Chapter Nineteen

The next few days progressed without incident. Nathan and Hayden continued their dissection of the church’s paperwork, and various other miscellany. Now and then someone paid a visit and Nathan offered his pre-established explanation about Sunday’s fellowship dinner dramatics. This had become so repetitive that he soon answered their concerns with a confident smile. More importantly, he was picking up the regular order of things, to his mentor’s obvious satisfaction. Hayden joined him for Wednesday’s visit to the three hospitals in Worcester, but let Nathan do most of the talking. Bible study that evening, led by Pastor Hayden one final time, was crowded and boisterous. Hayden was a man of many passions, but his strongest was discussing the Bible with young people who usually—and that evening was no exception—comprised more than half the attendees. By Thursday morning, the pastor looked more relaxed and admitted feeling better about leaving the flock in Nathan’s hands.

“As long as you promise not to fall down too often,” he said as they drove to the main cemetery.

Nathan grimaced. “If I do fall down, I promise to at least stay conscious.”

Hayden nodded. “Fair enough.”

They were in the fifth car of a modest funeral procession convoying from the church. The deceased was a ninety-one year old man named Karl Gipson. The man had passed away in his sleep at the nursing home Tuesday night, less than twelve hours after Nathan visited his bedside. Nathan remembered Gipson as quiet, perpetually tired and mumbling. It surprised him to think of how close he’d been to death. Even in his exhausted state, the man had laid a withered hand on Nathan’s Bible to pray silently along with him. Nathan felt a momentary wave of euphoria at the memory. Sadness and exaltation—the contradictions of a Christian’s life.

Gipson’s family followed the hearse at the front of the procession. In his rear view mirror, Nathan counted five other cars behind his. Not a large group of mourners, but then he’d had a small family, many of whom were either dead themselves or living in the southwestern part of the country. Elizabeth was in the last car, representing the Rosenberg Senior Care Center. In their only, and brief, conversation at the church before setting out for the burial, Elizabeth mentioned that Mrs. Conan wanted to attend. But she explained that the woman could barely stand. “Besides,” she added quietly, “and I hope this doesn’t sound bizarre or anything, but this is the last place I’d want her to see considering, well, how advanced her own condition is.”

When she paused, Nathan had put a hand on her shoulder, told her that was probably a wise move. He’d removed the hand quickly. Too familiar, too soon.

The green sprawl of the newer Hillcrest Memorial Cemetery came into view after rounding a turn. He assumed Tarretti would be waiting at the gravesite, standing off at a respectful distance. When the funeral plans were made Wednesday morning, Hayden remarked that Tarretti never failed to have everything ready for the procession’s arrival. As far as he knew, the man rarely left the grounds, and remarked that he probably “had nothing better to do, anyway.” Hayden said this with his characteristic grin, an expression Nathan was only now able to detect in the otherwise stony face.

As the hearse entered the grounds, Nathan said, “Pastor, my dad’s in some new group in town. I don’t think I’ve heard the name yet. Not the K of C. Something more recent. Spends a lot of time there.”

Hayden made a noise of acknowledgement and nodded his head. He said nothing.

Nathan turned the car into the wide stone gates and pressed, “Do you know the group I’m talking about?”

“I believe so. A small lot from what your mother has told me. Call themselves the Hillcrest Men’s Club.”

“My mom thinks he’s been going there too much, might be drinking...”

Hayden didn’t comment right away, but as Nathan pulled to the curb behind the last family car and parked, the old man said, “I really don’t know. I’ve tried to talk to your father about it, but he gets very defensive. Lately, all I’ve been able to do is keep tabs on him via your mother.” He opened the passenger door and paused. “You don’t mind if I lead the graveside ceremony this morning? I’ve known Karl for a long time.”

“Not at all.” Nathan decided to drop the subject of his father for now. He’d forgotten Hayden’s feelings again. Gipson was a friend. Besides, it didn’t sound like he knew much more about the club than Nathan did.

Though the sky was overcast, the weather remained calm and dry at the graveside. The chill of autumn floated teasingly in the air. Nathan kept two paces behind the pastor and tried to blend into the background. Hayden read apt passages from the Bible before the mourners took turns stepping onto the artificial grass laid over the grave and laying down the flowers offered by the funeral director. As they did so, Vincent Tarretti slowly moved closer, trying his best to be discreet. His graying blonde hair was tied back in a pony tail and tucked inside a flannel shirt. While Hayden spoke softly with the family, Nathan moved from the group and shook Vincent’s hand.

“Reverend, good morning. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Nathan said, and hoped that was enough. “Pastor Hayden has a lot of praise for your work here.”

Vincent smiled and nodded. “We’ve done a lot of these over the years. He’s a good man. Ready to take command?”

Nathan shrugged. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” A thought occurred to him, and after checking that Hayden wasn’t giving him signs that he was needed, added, “Listen, Vincent—do you prefer Vincent?”

“That’s my name.”

“You’ve been around for a while. Ever heard about a new men’s club in town?”

A surprised expression crossed the caretaker’s face. A moment later he masked it with a look of indifference. “I’ve heard of them.”

“What have you heard?”

Vincent stuck out his lower lip and slowly shook his head. “Not much. Why?”

“Nothing serious. Just my dad’s been spending a lot of time there lately and my Mom’s worried.” When Vincent said nothing, simply continued his faux-disinterested stare, Nathan tried another approach. “Any idea what they’re all about? If there’s a religious background? I suspect it’s mostly just a bunch of guys hanging around, something like that.”

Now, the other man looked at the minister directly, and for a moment Nathan thought he was angry. When he spoke, his voice was subdued, cautious. “I learned long ago that some things look one way to the public and another in private.”

“Meaning?”

Vincent nodded to the dispersing crowd. “I think your boss wants you.”

Hayden was looking in their direction, and when he realized he had Nathan’s attention gave a short wave, fingers wiggling in a come hither gesture.

“Can I—” Nathan said as he turned back, but Vincent was walking toward the gravesite, casually putting on a thick pair of work gloves. He was either in a hurry to lower the casket, or running from the conversation. Nathan moved into step behind Hayden as the minister walked with Gipson’s middle-aged daughter toward the line of cars. He tried to get his bearings, keep his mind on the somber event, but he kept wondering what Tarretti’s answer meant. Probably nothing.