NOLAN
Thick morning fog rolled through the cemetery in a hurry, kissing the edges of headstones that cluttered its path. It dissolved under the slow footsteps of three black-clad mourners crossing the dewy grounds as they picked their way toward the yawning mouth of an open grave.
A lone priest in a long black cassock stood waiting near the casket. In one hand he clutched an old book, a fragile artifact bound in soft purple cloth. The other hand rose in greeting as first Nolan, then Yena and Cindy came into his view, stomping out fog in their wake.
Nolan let go of Yena’s hand when they reached the old man’s graveside. He exchanged some words with the priest, with whom he’d earlier spoken on the phone, and then made introductions between the holy man and his wife and good friend.
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