Chapter Fourteen— Familiar Faces

As Jean Innocent watched the last shovelful of dirt fall on to her husband's grave, she felt the tears she'd been holding back for the past two hours streaking down her cheeks.

She tried to tell herself that the worst was over—that she'd be able to move on with her life now—but she knew that this wasn't the truth.

And as painful as it was, she knew that this was for the best. The alternative was far worse.

She couldn't even begin to imagine what that would feel like to forget him, and yet she knew it would be only a matter of time before she would start forgetting. She couldn't hold on to all of the little things that she loved about him forever. There would come a time when she'd struggle to remember his favourite brand of toothpaste or the smell of his aftershave.

But she knew that there was one thing that her memory could never erase: the fact that she'd loved him and been loved by him.

As the tears continued to stream down her face, she suddenly realized just how miraculous it was that she'd been able to make it through the eulogy without totally falling to pieces. She liked to think that maybe, somehow, John had leant her some of his strength. Of the two of them, he'd always been the patient, stoic one.

That wasn't to say that he'd never gotten angry; he had been only human after all. Though seldom aroused, his temper had been volatile, and as Jean herself was more than a little temperamental, the Innocent's marriage had survived its fair share of arguments.

But after even the most violent of disagreements, they'd eventually kiss and make-up, somehow finding themselves able to laugh about how silly they'd both been. And whenever she needed him, he was always there for her.

She remembered the times when his arms had been the only place in the world that she'd felt truly safe and accepted: the first few months after their move to Oxford when she'd felt as though everyone was waiting for her to prove herself unworthy and incapable of her promotion; the moment she'd realized that her former best friend was mentally unstable and a murderer.

He'd believed in her and listened to her at times when very few others had. She hoped he'd realized just how much this had meant to her, just how much he had meant to her.

She thought she remembered kissing him goodbye and telling him that she loved him on that last day, but she couldn't be sure. She'd had so many other things on her mind at the time, so many other things that seemed so unimportant now.

Jean felt an arm slowly wrap itself around her shoulders, and for a moment, she let herself believe that it was his arm, and that she'd just awoken from another nightmare. But this arm was much thinner and softer.

She turned her head and saw a pair of eyes, the exact shade of her own, looking back at her. It seemed strange to have her younger sister comforting her, as so often in the past, it had been the other way around.

Although the physical resemblance between them was uncanny, Jean Innocent and Nicole Hampton had always been very different people. In truth, Jean was only seven years older, but those seven years felt a lifetime. Nicole was as impulsive and outspoken as Jean was cautious and reserved.

Before her death, their mother had liked to joke that all of her grey hairs had come from raising Nicole, and Jean herself had lost many a night's sleep, worrying about and looking after her wild and passionate sister.

She thought about the countless times that a teenaged Nicole had run away from home. Jean had always been the person to find her and to convince her to return home. Similarly, Jean had been there for Nicole whenever heartbreak struck, which was often as Nicole—like many impulsive, passionate people—fell in and out of love constantly.

And now that the shoe was on the other foot, Jean's sister was there for her. Jean allowed Nicole to envelop her in a close embrace and to hold her until her tears slowed. When they finally broke apart, Jean turned to her sister.

" Thank you for coming, Nicole. "

Nicole brushed off the thanks. " You needed me. Though, you didn't admit it, of course, as you've got the obstinacy of a year-old sow with twice the appetite."

Innocent smiled, the first real smile that she'd had in four days. " You're one to talk," she teased, " at least I never ate an entire chocolate cake by myself, unlike some people I could mention."

Nicole grinned back and patted her stomach, which was still astonishingly flat despite having once carried two children. " And I didn't gain an ounce—don't you forget it!"

" How could I with you constantly reminding me of this fact?"

" The twins sent their love, by the way. They're still too young to really understand what's happening; all I've told them is that 'Aunt Jean' is very sad right now. Of course, this may have been a mistake on my part as Frank wanted to take his cricket bat to whoever made his auntie upset. Fortunately, Jeannie was able to persuade him not to do so. It seems she's inherited her namesake's sense," Nicole said, squeezing her sister's shoulder reassuringly.

" So are the kids at their dad's, then?"

" Yeah, Paul will take good care of them."

There was something in Nicole's voice that made Innocent wonder if her sister was really as over her ex-husband as she pretended to be. It gave Jean a renewed sense of kinship with Nicole; it seemed that they'd both lost men they loved, though at least Nicole had the chance for a happy reunion with Paul someday.

" Anyway," Nicole said after a long pause. " You should probably go and greet some of the other guests."

Jean nodded and looked around at some of the people standing by the freshly dug grave.

She caught Lewis's eye, and he gave her a slight nod of sympathy and understanding. Innocent interpreted this gesture as an indication of his willingness to resume the discussion they'd had in her office yesterday. She decided to wait to pursue this opportunity; there would be plenty of time to talk later, and she doubted that she was physically and mentally able to have that particular conversation at this painful time.

Beside Lewis stood Hathaway, looking tall, solemn, and stoic. He too looked as though he wanted to say something, but seemed conflicted as to whether or not his comfort would be welcome.

A little further along, Jean was disgusted to see that Harvey Malcolm had completely disregarded her advice about skipping the funeral. All the more galling was the fact that the expression on his face was not somber or mournful—but bored. Innocent wasn't surprised about this; she knew that he was only here in the hopes of pouncing on her at the reception and imploring her once again to let him ease her pain. Still, she wished that Harvey would be able to show some small sign of sorrow at the passing of a man who had once been his close friend.

Suddenly, the expression on Malcolm's face changed from one of boredom to one of total loathing. Innocent thought for a moment that the look was directed at her, but then realized that Malcolm was staring past her at Hathaway of all people.

This confused Innocent slightly. She had gotten the impression that James did not think much of Harvey—not that she could really blame him for that—but she had no idea what reason Malcolm would have to dislike Hathaway. She wondered if James had been misbehaving again and whether she'd have to lecture him once again for insubordination. But surely Lewis or Malcolm would have told her if this had been the case.

She tried not to think about this and scoured her eyes over the rest of the crowd. She saw the faces of family, friends, and colleagues—both her own and those of those of John's. But there was one face that she did not recognize.

A man in a black hooded sweatshirt stood watching the scene from several feet away. She tried not to let this bother her; John had had many friends, and she had never pretended to know all of them. Undoubtedly, this man had heard about Mr. Innocent's death and had come to pay his respects, though he obviously didn't feel comfortable joining the rest of them at the gravesite itself.

There was, however, something undeniably familiar about the man's tall, muscular frame. She suddenly wished that she were better able to see his face, which was somewhat obscured by his hood.

It took Innocent a moment to realize that the man was watching her watch him. Even when she removed her gaze and kept walking amongst the crowd, she could still feel the man's eyes upon her, staring almost unblinkingly at her. The feeling was incredibly unnerving.

Innocent walked over to her mother-in-law who looked nearly as miserable as Jean felt. " How are you?" she asked.

" Not at all well," the elderly Mrs. Innocent replied as she leaned heavily on her cane. " I'm sure you know the feeling."

Innocent nodded." I do. I have a question, though. That man by the willow tree. Would you happen to know what his name is and how he's acquainted with John?"

The seventy-nine-year-old looked around and then returned her attention to her daughter-in-law. " Man? I see no man by the tree, Jean."

Innocent glanced back at the place where she'd seen the man earlier, and realized that John's mother was right; the man was gone.