Is it cold? Will I need my coat? Strange not to know what season it is. Last I remember it was winter, and snow was still piled up on the streetcorners where the cleaners couldn't get to it. Now, though, there's no telling. Surely it's not full spring yet. I can't tell from what the priest is wearing. The men carrying the coffin are wearing long, heavy coats. I'm glad I brought the wool, then. I can't remember whose coffin it is. A lady in competent black approaches me. "Ms. Hollister? The procession is ready to leave when you are. If you would follow me please?" It's not exactly a question, and I follow her, obedient, although I'd like to know what the procession is for and what I'm doing here to begin with. It's something about... but I can't quite remember. I hope someone will tell me, sooner or later. It's possible I'm dreaming. It certainly feels like a dream. Surely I wouldn't be at a funeral and not know who died – like being on a stage and not knowing what character you're playing. A dream, then; it's the only explanation. The doors to the church open and I follow the lady out. A vicious gust of wind blows up. I forgot the coat after all, and God, it's so cold all of a sudden; that wind cuts right down to my bones. My eyes are watering and the muscles in my back have seized up. There's a sleek, pearl-gray limousine parked at the curb. The man standing by the door opens it and holds out his hand to help me in. I've got these ridiculous heels on, so I accept the offer before I make a complete fool of myself. The man's hand wraps around mine and the touch sends a painful shock of electricity through me. I stumble and crack my head on the car door. Before I can fall on my ass, the man catches me and pulls me up to my feet, steadying me as I regain my balance. "I'm sorry," I say. "Thank - " I stop short, staring into crystalline blue eyes that belong to no man I know. I can't take my eyes off him, and he's not looking away. We might stay here forever. "Are you ready to go?" he asks, and I don't answer, I can't, because with every moment that passes, I am experiencing the strangest sensation of moving backwards in time, past the service, the lady with the lace, the ride to the church from Queens, where I was waiting with Grendel, looking through a stack of pictures, making coffee, answering the phone, a hundred little things that anyone could be doing any day, until I see a building in my head, on the Upper East Side, and the small plaque on the door with the names of the businesses inside and there's one I recognize, Hummel and Greene, and I'm whooshing upstairs on the elevator then coming to a room where a dead woman lies on a bed and a younger dark-haired woman sits motionless in a chair beside her. The sight of this man is tearing down veils of oblivion and I can almost identify him, he looks so familiar, and...
"Gabriel." It comes back to me now, how I shouted at him the last time I saw him, how I ran from him and from my mother, too. From my mother, who is dead. A wave of dizziness passes over me and I hope I pass out, I'd prefer it, really, but I don't. I fall against him and he guides me into the back seat of the limousine, I smell sandalwood and leather, the heat in the car is delicious and I melt against the far edge, staying away, but he doesn't let me escape, he moves closer to me and reaches for my hair. I try to move away but he tells me to be still. He pulls something from my hair and hands it to me, it's a handkerchief-sized bit of black lace with a brown bobby pin stuck through it. He strokes my head in a businesslike manner, as if trying to smooth my hair down where he pulled the bobby pin out. "Sorry," he says. "I've wrecked your hair."
I can't help it; I laugh inappropriately. "It's fine. You don't have my coat anywhere, do you?" I ask, thinking that if anyone could keep track of someone's coat, it would be Gabriel.
"No," he says. "But you can have mine." He strips off his navy blue pea coat and wraps it around me. It feels as real as anything else does on this strange day.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, pulling the coat tight around me. "Gabriel, anyone could have seen you."
"It's not a problem," he says. "Let's just get you through today." I nod, for once unable to argue with him. "You haven't slept in a while, have you?" he says. Not waiting for an answer, he holds his arm up, inviting me over. "Come on. It's a half an hour to the cemetery. Rest your head, Paxton. I'll wake you when we get there."
He doesn't have to ask twice.
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