White lilies, six of them, long stemmed, expensive; interlaced with the large daisies, white, with big yellow, sunny middles. They obviously weren't the choice of the ten year old who held them, he barely looked like he could stand, and his skin was a pale contrast to red, swollen eyes.
But they were beautiful, a sign of taste and respect. Even her grave was beautiful, black marble shimmered under the sunlight, surrounded with well kept grass and the occasional willow tree. She deserved it; her death had been an ugly one.
He hadn't understood her reasoning, hadn't wanted to really. Why would a person be willing to commit such a betrayal? He'd condemned her for it, blamed her for the events that followed, had hated her even. But the compulsory sessions with a psychologist had revealed something unexpected. Underneath all that hatred lurked a deep seated sense of guilt. He should've done something to prevent her death, he should have realised what was going on. He was sleeping with the woman who killed her, he could have prevented it if only he had realised.
So here he was, in this place, despite everything his senses were telling him, trying to understand why. And watching her son lay flowers on the soft earth brought tears to his eyes. She was a traitor, she'd betrayed her country for money, but she was also a mother, and more than that, a person who he had considered his friend.
The boy laid the flowers on her grave with such care, making sure that they laid properly, arranged with a neat symmetry. Before shakily raising himself into his grandmother's arms, he let his fingers graze the earth, murmuring something as tears that had been held back until then started pouring for him.
Tony hadn't really known Jamey, he'd worked with her everyday, had sometimes even had coffee with her, but he knew nothing about her. He vaguely remembered she was married, but it meant nothing to him. Her husband had come to her funeral, bringing with him an older woman, short blond hair, both taller and fatter than Jamey had been. It was her funeral, and this man had the audacity to bring another woman with him, one who was so unlike Jamey as to proclaim that he was glad she was dead.
Later he learned that he had only come because of the money, he was getting everything that Jamey had, everything that he hadn't already taken. Excepting of course, their son. He was staying with his grandmother, his father not wanting him. Reasons that had confounded him suddenly slotted into place.
Watching the suited man practically rub his hands in glee as they buried her, his calculating eyes boring into those around him, Tony found it wasn't so hard to understand why she would be willing to betray her country for such a measly sum of money. He wondered what he would have done in her position.
Fortunately for him, all he had to do was go to work tomorrow, not consider what he would have done, just keep going. That was almost more than he was able to do, but if that boy could stand there with white flowers clasped in his hand, under the glazed eyes and pursed lips of the adults who surrounded him, who all knew that Jamey was a traitor and wondered if she even deserved to be buried, he supposed he could keep going. Seeing what might happen if you gave in was enough motivation to try.