Mike winced. “I’m sorry, Rose. You’ve had more dumped on you than a human being could be expected to stand.”
“Sometimes I feel like that man in the Bible who had so much trouble.”
“Job.”
“Yeah. And I’m still a-waiting for things to get better. Do you want to see the letters you sent Danny? I put them in a box so you could take them with you.”
Mike followed Rose into the kitchen. Dishes of food wrapped in aluminum foil rested on the table.
“The neighbors have chipped in nice,” she said, pointing at the table. “A few of them are going to come.”
“That’s good.”
“Danny was my baby,” Rose said as she opened the drawer of a small plastic filing cabinet. “And he thought the world of you.”
She handed Mike a cardboard shoe box. He lifted the lid. A stack of letters was bound together by a thick rubber band. The box also contained copies of pleadings Mike had filed in Danny’s case along with the brief to the Court of Appeals and the Court’s decision denying a new trial.
“As far as I know, he saved everything you ever sent him, even the legal stuff that he couldn’t read or understand.”
There was a loud knock at the front door.
“I’d better get that,” Rose said. “Make yourself at home.”
Mike flipped through the papers, not sure what to do with them. With the box under his arm, he walked down the short hall to the living room. Passing a bedroom, he saw Danny’s picture in a frame beside Rose’s bed. It was a high school photo featuring Danny’s unique grin. The service was scheduled to start at 4:00 p.m., but people straggled in for another twenty minutes. Mike waited.
At 4:30 p.m., Rose looked at him and announced, “I guess that’s about it.”
Mike stood before the group. Even with the front door open it was stuffy in the little house. He left the notes he’d prepared in the pocket of his jacket beside the toothpick cross.
“One of the things we like to do at memorial services is remember the person who has passed on. I remember Danny as a young man with a big smile, simple faith, and generous spirit. When he found out I was a Christian he always wanted to pray after we had a meeting about his case. No one I represented left a deeper impression on me than Danny. In fact, knowing him influenced me to go into the ministry so I could focus on people’s spiritual, not just legal, needs.”
Mike took out the cross and showed it to the group then handed it to Rose.
“It was a privilege serving as Danny’s lawyer, and losing his case was the worst experience of my career. I’ll never forget the moment of the verdict.” Mike paused and let a wave of emotion pass. “After the jury foreman spoke, Danny turned to me and asked me what had happened. When I told him the bad news, he patted me on the back and told me it would be okay.”
Mike lowered his head for a moment before continuing with more intensity. “But it wasn’t okay. Our court system failed, I failed, and the prison system failed. And now Danny is gone. There’s a part of me that wants to scream at the injustice of it all. But Danny never cursed the darkness that exists in this world. His answer was to let his light shine.”
Mike looked at Rose. “Do you remember how much he liked the little song many of us learned as kids about letting our light shine all over the neighborhood?”
Rose nodded. “He loved that song.”
“That song has kept me from anger and despair over Danny’s death. His light never went out, and I guarantee you, at this moment, it’s blazing like a bonfire. Danny won’t be coming home to us, but as King David said after one of his sons died, ‘I will go to him, but he will not return to me.’ If we’re one of God’s children, we’ll one day join him in a place where no evil dwells. Grieve. It’s healthy. But also remember the goodness that came through knowing a wonderful young man.”
Mike scanned the faces of the mourners. “Now it’s your turn. Like Danny, we’re not in a hurry. Let’s hear from you. It’s time for you to remember.”
Mike sat down. There was a long, awkward silence, and Mike wondered if anyone would speak. Then, one of Danny’s aunts stood up.
“I got a story,” she said. “When Danny was about twelve years old, he and his mama came over to our house to eat one Friday night. I’d worked all day and was beat, but I knew how much Danny liked potatoes fried in a skillet with onions, so I was in the kitchen peeling potatoes. He came in to see me, stood right beside me at the sink, and watched for the longest time without saying a word. Finally, he spoke up. ‘Aunt Betty, you make the best potatoes in the world. I love to put ketchup on them and eat a whole plate. When I eat one of your potatoes, it makes me feel good all over my insides, not just in my stomach.’”