Mother stepped into sight from around the corner, her eyebrows narrowed; hand clutched tightly around a cellphone by her side. What phone call could have been so important that it was worth delaying the funeral?
“Why aren’t you greeting the guests,” she whispered harshly at me, when she was close enough to speak without anyone else overhearing her.
“They’ve already taken their turns coming to talk to me.”
Mother didn’t appear satisfied with that answer, but she moved along without prolonging the argument. With a practiced touch, mother smoothed the expression on her face, and made eye contact with the pastor on the far side of the room, and the man hurried over to us