Tom began to wonder if someone on the other side thought he looked great in black. That's the only way he could explain away his second funeral in nearly 2 years. The first had been for his parents. Now, he found himself at Lenore's funeral. He was as shocked as anyone that she had died. Sure, the woman was nearly 70; sure, she had been in slowly descending spirits over the last few years; and sure, she had spent the last 2 weeks of what turned out to be her life in the hospital. None of this, at least in Tom's eyes, meant that it was her time to go. She had been his bedrock throughout his entire life. Without her in his world, he didn't know what he would do. He was only glad that he had Amy and Genevieve by his side. Without them, he probably wouldn't have been able to get out of bed, much less speak before the entire congregation at Lenore's traditional funeral.

Tom recognized practically everyone at the service. Up front sat "the family," which now consisted of, along with Tom and an absent Chris, Amy and Joe. With them also sat Genevieve and Joe's girlfriend Carolyn Stoddard. Tom could tell that she was anxious to leave. And why not? She was a Collins, and a wild one from what he had heard. This wasn't her "scene." Throughout the congregation sat the remains of the Evans family, Sam and Maggie, Tom's employer Mr. Garringer, and various other well wishers that Tom only knew from their relationships with Lenore.

The most interesting of the nameless crowd was the man in black. Tom thought he couldn't be out of his twenties. He sat silently to the side, huddled in his heavy black coat against the February chill. No one else seemed to recognize him either. They had all stared at him when he arrived. He only stared back, focusing his intense blue eyes on the offender until he sighed and turned away. He was intimidating and intriguing at the same time. Tom had to know who he was.

Tom received his chance once the funeral was over. Anyone who had not been a member of the family quickly departed after the burial, leaving the remaining people to stand around, their eyes rarely meeting, only staring down at the lowering casket. Amy seemed to take all of this the hardest. Tom did her best to comfort her, but she refused to stop crying. He had to pass the wailing girl off to Genevieve, who cooed and cuddled the weeping princess as she walked toward the car. Before walking away, she leaned in and whispered, "He hasn't left yet. Go talk to him. I know you want to."

Tom thanked her and watched as she walked away. He turned back to see the man standing about ten feet in front of him. At this range, Tom could tell that the man was taller than him, possibly four or five inches so. The man made no move to come closer. He only stared at him with his hands buried in the black coat. This man didn't seem like the type to person to make the first move. Tom knew it was his role to break the ice. He walked toward the stranger with his own his own hands now firmly encased in his pockets and asked, "Have we met?"

"Probably not formally." The stranger withdrew his right hand from the coat, extending it calmly to Tom and said, "I'm Frederick Thorne."

"Pleased to meet you." The men shook hands hastily, ending their handclasp fast and moving the hands back into their respective pockets as smoothly as possible. To Tom, it seemed that the introduction had only heightened Mr. Thorne's anxiety. Tom didn't see any obvious reasons for him to be afraid. What was this man hiding? "Tell me Frederick (it's okay that I call you this right?), how did you know my grandmother?"

"I met her a few weeks ago when my friend Julie was in the hospital," explained Frederick slowly. "It was just a chance meeting in the hall. We began to talk, and soon we were friends. Even after Julie was released, I made sure to check in on Lenore."

"Okay. God! I know who you are now. I feel like such an idiot."

"Really? Well then, who am I?"

"You're the one the nurses used to kid grandma about," answered Tom giddily. "You're the one they used to coo over."

Frederick smiled shyly and nodded. "It was a bit embarrassing. I . . . um . . . I didn't expect any of those women to be so . . . how should I put it . . . "

"Endlessly enthralled?" asked Tom. "They would talk to grandma about being jealous of her because of her cute grandson and her godlessly young boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" asked Frederick.

"Oh yeah, they were merciless. Of course grandma would light heartedly deny it all but I could tell that she liked the attention. You really made her happy."

"Really?" Tom nodded. "Well then, I'm glad that I could be of some service."

"Nice to see you're finally providing some kind of service again." Both men looked up to see Genevieve strolling towards them. Tom glanced back to Frederick and noticed the disarming grin spreading across his face. Genevieve knew this man? Tom didn't know what to think as she took his hand but extended her other one to Frederick Thorne. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him close, whispering something that was apparently funny in his ear before kissing his cheek and slipping back toward Tom. She turned to him, took his face into her hands, and kissed his lips. As she pulled away she whispered, "We used to party together in Portland during my wild days. I've not seen him in years. It was nothing."

"Now you tell me." Tom glanced awkwardly between Genevieve and Frederick. He knew that he shouldn't be too surprised. She had told him about her crazy years of partying with people who wanted to use her. She had apparently met Chris during those days. He was "one of the good ones" by her standards. Tom knew that her wild times were behind her, but the sight of Genevieve with this relic from her past made him worry. She had known men who were as beautiful and engaging as Frederick Thorne. Tom suddenly felt as if she were "settling" for him. He just wanted to leave this place and crawl into bed. Life seemed to feel bleaker by the moment. "So Frederick, how long will you stay in town?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning. There's no real need for me to stick around anymore."

Genevieve leaned in and whispered, "He needs to find a new girlfriend. Frederick is such a slut!"

Tom choked back his laughter as he stared at Frederick Thorne. 'Perhaps this guy isn't the threat I thought he was.' Genevieve, although she obviously liked the man, didn't seem to think Mr. Thorne's habits suitable to hers. At least that was the way Tom was going to take her quiet outburst. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. I would've liked to have gotten to know you a little better before you headed off."

"No you wouldn't," answered Frederick with a slight grin. "I don't think you would have liked me very well."

"My grandmother seemed to like you well enough."

"I really don't understand why. I'm just glad that she did."

"Oh? So Lenore's attention meant that much to you?" asked Genevieve.

Frederick rolled his eyes dramatically. Genevieve looked up at him defiantly, waiting for him to answer her. Tom couldn't believe that these two had ever gotten along. "Yes!" He turned to Tom and asked, "Is Gene this mean to you? She's always been cruel to me. She wouldn't believe a word I said. Come on!" he exclaimed as he turned his focus onto Genevieve, "Why can't my word be the end all on a subject that concerns me?"

"Because you're a terrific liar, Freddie," answered Genevieve. "I never thought that I knew you well enough to tell the truth from the garbage."

"Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be." Frederick shrugged and smiled, doing his best to exit what seemed like a bad situation with as little effort as possible. He extended his hand to Tom and said, "Now, I really must be going. It's been a pleasure meeting you, your sister, and . . . isn't there another one of you guys? I seem to remember Lenore mentioning another name."

Tom froze mid-shake. Frederick had to have been the 20th person to ask him about his older brother in the past week. The selfish bastard hadn't had the grace to answer any of the letters that had been sent to him about Lenore's death. Come to think about it, he had made no sign to get in touch with the family since their parents died. Chris was such a coward. Why did everyone have to remember him? "You must be thinking of Chris, my older brother," answered Tom slowly. "You haven't met him because he hasn't been in Collinsport in a few years."

"Oh . . . I'm sorry I mentioned it. I didn't know it would be such a touchy area."

"Your charm scores another victory," mumbled Genevieve.

"Bravo! You've been so dutiful in pointing out my fumbles since you were crowned Ms Subtlety Maine." Frederick pulled away from the duo and began to walk off. He turned back around and waved, saying, "Goodbye all. I hope to see you all again. Genevieve, you've finally found a good man . . . don't kill him!"

Tom waved as Frederick walked away. He tried to ignore the fact that Genevieve was both waving to the man and giving him the single finger salute. Part of him worried what the few funerary stragglers would think of them after this. Frederick laughed and returned the favor before walking across the street. Tom twisted toward Genevieve to notice the odd smirk that had overtaken her face. "Is he so horrible?"

Genevieve shook her head lethargically. "He's not that bad, but he's not my kind of guy. He's got too much hidden inside. I never knew what I was getting when I was with him and it is just too unnerving for me to deal with. You know I always get this feeling that he's more experience than anyone else I know. He's only 30; he couldn't have seen that much more than anyone else."

Tom nodded. He took her hand as they began to walk back toward the car. Although he had heard her opinion, Tom didn't know what to think. She said that he wasn't her kind of man. He wanted to know how she had found that out, if only to appease his worried mind. "So you wouldn't sleep with him," he whispered, half hoping she would notice and half hoping that she would not.

"No! Eww . . . cooties. I would never sleep with THE Frederick Thorne," giggled Genevieve. "Too many passengers have stepped up for that ride and, quite frankly, I don't think it's safe. Why would you even ask a thing like that?"

"Jealousy."

"Figures. Men!" Genevieve turned to him and kissed his cheek. She laid her forehead against him and sighed defeatedly. "You don't have to ever worry about me doing anything like that. I'm not that kind of girl. I don't really like other men . . . just you. Do you understand?"

"I suppose."

"'I suppose,'" mimed Genevieve. She pulled away from his body but grabbed onto his hand. She pulled him along, glancing back toward him ever so often. Tom thought it looked like she was afraid he wouldn't be there when she returned to the car. "Hurry up," she playfully chided. "We need to get home and put Amy to bed. I should've known better than to leave her in the car. She needs to be home."

Tom didn't argue with her.