Edward Kincaid turned away from the funeral service in the distance and limped back up the sloping hill of Mt. Washington Cemetery to his own hell. It wasn’t the first time he’d been to a ceremony to bury a fellow cop. But it was the first time he’d shown up for one without wearing his own uniform or badge. And it was the first time he’d shown up to bury his own father. “I don’t know how. But I hope you do.”Edward couldn’t feel the cold rain seeping through his hair and running down his scalp. But he felt the chill of the April day down in his knitted bones. He could barely make out the lyrics of the song his youngest brother, Holden, was singing. But he felt the mournful melody deep in his soul.His mother and brothers, colleagues from the KCPD and more family friends than he could count were gathered on the opposite side of the copse of evergreens and ash trees to his back. But here were the only two people he wanted to be with right now. With his cane sinking into the mud, he awkwardly knelt down in front of the pink marble gravestone and wiped the rain away from the words carved there.Beloved Wife.
