The funeral is tomorrow. Joyce asked me this morning if I had my remarks ready. I told her I did. She said she was glad it was me because I knew him almost as long as she did.

I have not decided which paper I will read. The kind one would let everybody leave feeling like they knew a good man. The true one would make the room go still and I am not sure Joyce could stand that on top of everything else.

Either way that woman will be sitting in the third row on the aisle. She will hear every word I say. I will have to walk past her on my way back to my seat.

I keep telling myself I am doing this for Joyce. But the truth is I do not know if that is still enough.

That Christmas Eve keeps coming back to me now more than anything else. The kitchen smelled like warm bread and the ham Walter was slicing on the counter. Joyce had the radio on low playing those old carols she loved every year.

She stood by the stove with a glass in her hand. “Walter, tell them about the lake trip when the boat motor quit on us,” she said. “You were so calm the whole time.”

He just kept carving. “That was nothing special,” he said. “No need to drag it all out again.”

I sat at the table with the napkins in my lap. The cloth felt soft under my fingers and I kept tracing the little flowers Joyce had embroidered on the edges. The steam from the ham rose up and made the window fog over just a little. I could see the snow starting outside in the yard light.

Walter looked up from the plate. “Everything all right over there?” he asked.

“Fine,” I said. “Just thinking.”

Joyce laughed and passed him the mustard. “You always know just what you want,” she said. “Even with the ham you have to have it your way.”

He smiled at that. “Guess I do,” he said.

I almost told her right then. The words were sitting behind my teeth and I could taste them. But I took a drink of water instead and the moment moved on. The kids were laughing in the next room and the sound carried through like nothing was wrong in the world.

I remember the scrape of that knife on the plate clearest of all. It was steady and even like he had done it a hundred times before. Joyce wiped the counter with a dish towel. “This is what I love about the holidays,” she said. “All of us here together.”

Walter nodded. “Nothing better than this,” he said.

That night I drove home thinking about the parking lot again. His face had been so calm when he saw me that day. Not worried. Just sure I would keep my mouth shut like I always had.