Because for fifteen years they had buried Lily twice.
First on earth.
Then in his judgments.
Months later, Lily was finally buried in peace.
The church was full.
Not out of curiosity.
But out of shame.
Noah was standing by the coffin, holding an old photo of his sister. She smiled in the picture. Sixteen years forever. Dark hair on a shoulder. Three small flowers white sewn up the sleeve.
Margaret walked forward with the pink cloth in her hands.
He placed it next to the flowers.
Then he leaned over and whispered,
I'm sorry, my child. I should have known.
Noah wanted to tell him it wasn't his fault.
But pain doesn't listen to reason.
After the funeral, Harold's house was empty.
Nobody wanted her.
The windows were walled up. The garden died. The shed was shot down. Even so, people crossed the street instead of passing in front of that courtyard.
