“You’re sure?” Dominick asked from the front seat.
Genesis said nothing. She leaned her head against the window and stared out.
“Alright, then,” Dominick said.
The car rolled out of the driveway and down the street.
Angela stared down at Gerhard Jacobs, an old man with pale skin, wispy blond hair, and glasses. She’d never seen a dead body before. She wondered what would happen if she looked into his eyes.
Behind her, the church gradually filled with mourners. She tried not to look, tried to put the crowd from her mind. But every new arrival was another pair of eyes to avoid, eyes filled with sadness and grief. And she needed to be strong for Genesis today.
“Did you know him?” asked an elderly black woman, standing beside Angela.
Angela shook her head.
“I never got the chance to meet him,” she said. “I’m just here for Genesis.”
She glanced across the room, where Genesis was chatting away with some cousins who flew in from South Africa to attend the funeral.
“She loved him so much,” the woman said. “Nobody quite understood her the way he did. Not even her own parents.”
“I didn’t realize he meant that much to her,” Angela said. “No wonder she took it so hard. Though you wouldn’t know it to look at her.”
Genesis laughed at something one of her cousins said.
“She’s always been good at keeping her feelings to herself,” the woman said. “Gerhard was the same way. Wonderful man but he never knew how to express himself when he really needed to.”
At the front of the church, a young priest approached the podium. The audience flocked to their seats.
“Angela!” Genesis called out.
She waved Angela over. The old woman followed.
“I see you’ve already met my grandmother,” Genesis said.