House of Blues

morning was overcast, which matched her mood. It
was not only the day of Steve's departure, it was the day of Jim's
funeral.
    Jim had been Catholic, but almost certainly not a
member of St. Louis Cathedral, which was where the funeral was held.
He had probably gone to a small church  somewhere—but this was
to be a big deal cop funeral.
    The Times-Picayune had made a major event of Jim's death, and the chief had treated it
as a personal affront. Everyone in the department who could would
probably attend the funeral, and a number of politicians were
expected.
    Not to mention Jim's friends and family.
    " Families," Steve reminded her as they
walked over. "That means two sets of in-laws, aunts, uncles,
every kind of thing—how the hell did he do it?"
    "Reminds me of that country song."
    "As you know, I would listen to country only if
you tied me up and tortured me."
    " If you ask me nice, I might."
    "How does the song go?"
"Tryin' to love two women is like a
ball and chain."
    " I'd never attempt it." He wouldn't. She
was sure of that.
    "Funny thing, though, Jim didn't seem any more
tired or distracted than anyone else."
    ‘ ·‘How could you even handle the logistics of
having two families?"
    " \/Vell, I've been pondering that. You know the
way our schedules change all the time? Like one month my platoon's on
the first watch, which is eight to four, the next it's on the second,
which is four to twelve, the next it's the. third, which is midnight
to eight. At first I thought maybe he could tell them it changed
every day or something like that. But you know what? I couldn't
figure a way in hell to make it work. The only thing I can imagine is
he gave them some idea that being a policeman is like being a spy—he
can't be called at work, he's out of pocket for days at a time. Lies
upon lies upon lies."
    " And think how small he'd have to tell them the
pay is."
    "Oh my God, I hadn't considered that—I hope he
wasn't sending all those kids to Catholic school."
    They were nearly at the church. Steve nuzzled her
neck briefly. "Did I ever mention I like a woman in uniform?"
    It was the right thing to say. She'd worn one for the
occasion, along with her mourning band, the little black elastic
sleeve that fit diagonally over her badge. But one of the great perks
of being a detective was not having to wear a uniform; because if the
truth were told, it was distinctly unflattering. She felt
self-conscious today, too heavy in the boobs and butt.
    Having arrived fairly early, they were shown to seats
about midway to the altar, giving Skip a good view of the front pews.
She had wondered if each of the two families would take a side, as at
weddings, giving everyone a choice of Wife A's side or Wife B's. But
what she saw amazed her. The two families were sitting together, the
women side by side, their children interspersed. They'd apparently
bonded.
    Skip felt tears come to her eyes, she wasn't quite
sure why. They were dealt a bad hand and they made the most of it;
that's better than most people would have done.
    She tried to imagine it: overcoming your jealousy and
sense of betrayal at a time like that.
    It would take a bigger woman than me.
    She watched the pols and dignitaries file into the
church, and thought that Jim was a much more important person in
death than . he'd been in life. He would have shaken his head, she
thought, and said, "Mm mm mm."
    There would have been a lot here to puzzle him.
    So much had been changed by his death. It wasn't
merely that one second he'd been breathing, the next he hadn't.
    It wasn't just that his death left a hole.
    The department was different, his families' lives
were different, her life was different. Even the climate of the city
was different.  And who could have predicted it? He was only one
man—a decent man, a good cop, a good friend—but the domino effect
surprised her.
    There was something here that bore thinking about;
something larger; but she couldn't handle it now.
    The service had begun. Sounds of quiet sniffling
filled the church. When the eulogies were given, she joined in
herself. When Joe Tarantino, her lieutenant, talked about what Jim
had meant to the department, it came clear to her how much she was
going to miss him, how much she'd depended on him.
    She saw Adam Abasolo near the front of the church and
wondered what a steady diet of him was going to be like. He'd come to
Homicide from Sex Crimes, much against his will, she was sure. He'd
once told her he liked Sex