I was never much for romance. Love, that heady, all-encompassing sort of thing had mostly eluded me. After Katherine’s death I felt no remorse; she had made her choice. At the funeral I showed an appropriately affected visage; we’d been off and on for years.

The shock was all too genuine in response to Howie’s nonchalant, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

I made no response. A distant relative to my right appeared physically ill at the sight of him. I wasn’t far behind.

“Look, what’s done is done. The courts don’t have anything, and neither do you. So wipe that self righteous look off yer face.”

“Or what, you’ll strangle me at a funeral?”

“Poor choice of words, man. Show a little respect.” Oddly enough, it seemed like he really meant it. Inwardly I marveled at a mind that would allow such easy vascillation in the perception of reality.

A small amount of pity for him slid across the back of my mind.

Eleven days later I strangled Howie.

I felt a little remorse, mostly that it took that long.