Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood (13 page)

About twelve blocks from the church, Boone began noticing more and more Chicago PD squads on the street. “Downtown being represented already?” he said.

“You won’t believe it, Boones. The way I hear it, every beat in the city will have someone here in uniform.”

“You’re not serious. What are there, like almost 280 beats in this town?”

Jack nodded. “Commander Jones wasn’t kidding when he said you were family, and that makes your family our family.” He grabbed the radio handset and informed the sergeant in charge of crowd control and traffic at the church that he had Boone Drake in the car. The sergeant told him to come in the back way through a side street and that he had someone standing by to park the car so Keller could stay with Boone.

From that point on, the driver of every squad within sight of Keller’s vehicle briefly flipped on the blue lights. Bonnie Wells of Human Resources had predicted that Boone would be impressed. That proved an understatement.

When Keller finally pulled in, Boone was stunned to see the parking lot already filling. This was one huge sanctuary, and it was clear it would be full. Thousands of people. Boone toyed with leaving Nikki’s Bible in the car, as he was still unsure of his own motives. But at the last minute he decided to hang on to it.

The pastor’s secretary was waiting just inside the back door, and Boone introduced her to Jack. “We’ve talked on the phone,” she said, grasping one of Keller’s gloved hands. “Sorry to meet you under such circumstances.”

She led them through a labyrinth of back halls and staircases, reaching the pastor’s office from a direction Boone had never seen. It did not surprise him to discover he was the last one there. The outer office teemed with relatives he hadn’t seen since his and Nikki’s wedding. The place fell silent when he appeared.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said. “This is my partner, Jack Keller.”

Everyone began murmuring hellos and shaking hands with Jack. Several embraced Boone, including his brothers, and while he found it difficult to be other than stiff, he began his recitation of the one and only phrase he would use all day. When his mother got her turn, she leaned close to his ear and said, “Surely you’ll take off the sunglasses for the service.”

He did not respond. She would have to have him tranquilized to get those off.

Francisco held up a sheet informing the family members where they were to sit and asked them to follow his secretary to the first few rows. Boone whispered to the pastor where he wanted Jack to sit, and Sosa told his secretary to make it happen. Then he asked the four parents and Boone to join him in his office.

As they sat across the desk from the pastor, Boone’s mother-in-law whispered, “Nikki’s Bible. How nice. May I?”

Boone handed it to her, and she immediately broke down. She leafed through it as her husband looked on. “She won that Bible at camp when she was twelve,” Steve said.

“Are you going to read from it during the service?” Pam McNickle said.

Boone shook his head. “I would not be able to.”

“Me either,” she said. “Steve is going to speak for the families, you know.”

“Yes,” Pastor Sosa said, turning a sheet of paper to face them and sliding it across the desk. “This will be in the printed programs, but just so you can see it. You’re sure you’re up to this, Mr. McNickle? Everyone will understand if you can’t get through it.”

“I intend to try.”

Boone was impressed. He would not have dreamed of trying. His mother grabbed Steve’s forearm. “We wanted to say a few words, but we just couldn’t. God will be with you.”

“He’ll have to be.”

Sosa walked them through the order of service. The program would begin with organ and piano music while the caskets were rolled to the front. “The mothers will then place framed photographs atop each coffin. I will read a brief formal obituary for both Nikki and Josh, then introduce Mr. McNickle. After that I’ll open the floor for anyone who wishes to be heard. Then we’ll have a solo by a friend of Nikki’s. I will speak, and then we’ll close with one more solo. I will explain the instructions for all who want to join the procession to the gravesites and then announce that all are invited back to the church for food and reflection.”

Boone came alive. “For
what
?”

“The church is happy to provide this,” Sosa said. “Just light refreshments. Usually about half the people choose to return.”

“I knew nothing of this.”

“I’m sorry. My error. I didn’t even think to mention it. We do it all the time. You don’t have a problem with it, do you?”

“I wasn’t prepared for it, that’s all. The service itself and the gravesite thing are going to be stressful enough. . . .”

Mrs. Drake said, “We can’t cancel, Boone. People expect this sort of thing and will want to express themselves. Anyway, the church has gone to a lot of trouble and expense—”

“That is not an issue, ma’am,” Sosa said. “This is offered by the church on behalf of the family, so it’s entirely up to you all.”

“It’s up to me,” Boone said, feeling slighted.

The four parents began to speak at once. “Not only do we have to do it, Boone,” his mother said, “but you must be there. People will expect it.”

“I don’t care what people expect! It’s going to be all I can do to survive, and I don’t need a big banquet on top of everything else.”

“This is my fault,” the pastor said. “I apologize. I can easily just leave out the invitation, and people will understand that the traditional post-service reception is not part of today’s agenda. People are flexible.”

“No, no,” the parents said. “Boone, please.”

Part of him wanted to stomp and pound and shout. He was so tired of convention and expectations and worrying about everyone else. Yet clearly there was no way out of this. “Don’t expect me to be cordial and cheery.”

“No one expects that,” his mother said. “Just let people minister to you.”

Minister to me? They could better minister to me by leaving me alone.

“Forgive me, Boone,” Sosa said. “Totally my error.”

Boone nodded. He certainly didn’t want this weighing on the pastor.

Pam McNickle handed the Bible back to Boone. “I’m sure you know this, but somewhere in there is Nikki’s prayer list. She’s kept one there for years.”

Pastor Sosa’s secretary returned to usher the parents to their seats.

“Boone,” Francisco said, “hang back and you and I will walk in together, all right?”

When the others were gone, Francisco put a hand on Boone’s shoulder and pulled him close. “Are we all right?”

“’Course.”

“Do I need to apologize again?”

“Please, no.”

“Thanks,” Sosa said. He pulled open a closet door, revealing a small mirror. He straightened his tie and checked his teeth. “Occupational hazard. Need a last peek?”

Boone was going to decline, but Sosa opened the door farther and he caught a glimpse of himself. Everything was in place, but Boone was sobered to realize how lined his young face was. The last several days had not been good to him. The sunglasses gave him a hard, foreboding look, and that was fine with him.

Following Francisco down the back way to the sanctuary was almost as dreadful as the walk to ICU not so many days before. As they entered from a side door, Boone realized he had never heard such silence in the sanctuary. Usually the place, especially when full, was hopping with music and chatter.

A low murmur began when Boone and the pastor split, Sosa heading to a chair near the steps to the platform and Boone to his seat in the front row next to his mother. Beyond her sat his father and his in-laws, beyond and behind them the rest of the family. Boone was relieved to see Jack directly behind him. Most stunning, however, was that immediately behind the rows reserved for the family was an entire section filled with hundreds of Chicago PD officers, men and women in formal dress uniforms.

A pianist and an organist made their way to electronic keyboards and began playing. When Boone heard a low moan from all over the auditorium, he knew the coffins were being wheeled down the center aisle. People turned as they would for a bride, but Boone sat staring down, gripping Nikki’s Bible so tight his fingers felt stiff and his knuckles turned white.

The caskets were transferred to a bier in the front, the tiny white one tucked in next to Nikki’s and gleaming under a spotlight. Boone found it hard to breathe. His mother looked to Mrs. McNickle, and they stood together. Pam placed a framed portrait of Nikki atop her casket, and Lucy Drake put a picture of Josh on his. Boone hung his head again, refusing to look.

Francisco Sosa strode to a simple lectern at center stage and solemnly announced the birth and death dates of mother and child, reciting the litany of relatives who both preceded them in death and survived them. “And now Stephen McNickle, father of Nikki and grandfather of Josh, will speak on behalf of the family.”

Steve looked shaky to Boone as he took the stage, pulling a single sheet from his breast pocket, fingers fluttering as he spread it flat before him. He cleared his throat to little avail. He had to lean close to the microphone to be heard. And he never lifted his eyes from his notes.

“It is my privilege to speak on behalf of the families. Nikki was a wonderful daughter. . . .”

Steve spoke haltingly, and again Boone had to look away. As his father-in-law told familiar stories and touching incidents, people quietly laughed or oohed and aahed. But when he got to his memories of holding Josh for the first time, of watching the video of his first steps, of his saying his version of
grandpa
, the place was silent except for sniffles and rustling for tissues.

Boone lowered his chin to his chest, pressing his lips tight. He had to hand it to Steve. No way he could have done the same. Boone ran his fingers across the edges of Nikki’s Bible, then thumbed through it. There in the back, just as his mother-in-law had said, was a small card titled My Prayer List.

It included several names and situations, but at the very top was, “Boone—that he become a complete man of God and remain a devoted husband and loving father.”

On one of the blank pages at the back of the Bible, Nikki had written, “My favorite verse: ‘Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart,’ Psalm 37:4.”

Suddenly Boone was aware of his mother leaning toward him. He turned the page so she could see. She reached for the Bible and he reluctantly let her take it. She immediately left her seat and tiptoed over to where Pastor Sosa sat. As Steve McNickle was finishing his poignant remarks, she showed the Bible to the pastor and whispered in his ear.

Sosa took the Bible with him when he replaced Steve at the lectern. “Before I open the floor for comments, I’ve just been shown something special in Nikki Drake’s Bible.” He read her favorite verse, then directed people to microphones placed throughout the auditorium. Boone was surprised to see dozens line up to wait their turn. As they began to speak, the pastor returned the Bible to him. Never had anything but his family seemed so precious. Was the first thing listed on Nikki’s prayer list the desire of her heart? Had he ever been what she wanted, what she hoped and prayed for? Regardless, it was too late now.

Boone had no idea how far and wide Nikki’s influence had spread. She had never been what one would describe as a dynamic personality. Rather she had been a servant, a pleasant people person. And yet friends and coworkers shared story after story of her kindnesses. Boone wondered if he had ever really known her or appreciated her. She had always been wonderful to him, but all this . . . of this he had been largely unaware.

Boone was not sure how she accomplished it, but when the comments from the audience had run their course and the program moved to the first solo, Cheryl Schmidt was already waiting at the lectern. She had apparently slipped up there while the lights were concentrated on the floor mikes. He saw immediately what she had meant by being less than animated. But somehow that made Nikki’s favorite songs all the more special.

Cheryl looked to be college-age and was rather plain. But her voice was soft and pure. Apparently without printed music or lyrics, she merely gazed at the audience and sang to simple piano accompaniment:

I will sing the wondrous story

Of the Christ who died for me—

How he left his home in glory

For the cross of Calvary.

Days of darkness still come o’er me,

Sorrow’s paths I often tread;

But the Savior still is with me—

By his hand I’m safely led.

He will keep me till the river

Rolls its waters at my feet;

Then he’ll bear me safely over,

Where the loved ones I shall meet.

Boone heard weeping from all over the sanctuary. The place fell silent as Francisco Sosa mounted the stage and quietly traded places with the soloist.

The pastor took a moment to open his Bible and spread his notes. “Dearly beloved, there is a reason that pastors have begun solemn church ceremonies with that phrase throughout the centuries. I call you
dearly beloved
because that is what you are.

“I knew Nikki Drake and her precious baby. I didn’t know her as well as many of you apparently did, but I knew her well enough to know that she is dearly beloved by you, and that you would be dearly beloved by her, if for no other reason than that you have made it a priority to be here today.

“As I look out over this crowd and see the grieving family before me, I confess my heart is broken. The remains of the two who are in heaven today lie before us entirely too prematurely. Nikki was a young wife and mother. Josh had virtually just begun what should have been a decades-long journey.

“While we are here to celebrate their too-short lives and to rejoice in their home-goings and the joyous welcome they have enjoyed in the arms of their heavenly Father, you must not wonder whether I am aware of the elephant in the room.