Read Ribbons for Free Online Page A

suddenly. “You’re talking to me like I’m old.”
    “Oh. How do you talk to a nine-year-old?”
    “Usually people just treat me like I’m really dumb. Or like I don’t know about sex. But I can do math better than most of them.”
    Matt didn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully, he didn’t have to.
    “My mom’s over there,” said the kid. “She worked for Uncle Quent.”
    The boy pointed into a large room that connected to the foyer through a set of open doors. Rows of chairs had been set up facing a small raised stage. On the stage was an open casket. Matt almost didn’t recognize the man inside. The Uncle Quent he remembered had always looked like he desperately needed to be somewhere else. This man just looked at peace. Most of the guests were still milling around and eating bite-sized food, but a few were waiting in line to pay their respects. The boy’s mother was at the front of the line. As Matt watched, she kissed her fingertips and then touched them to Uncle Quent’s forehead.
    She seemed too young to be the boy’s mother. She looked like she was in her mid twenties, and if the boy was nine, that meant somebody hadn’t taken her Sex Ed class very seriously in high school. Her blond hair was tied back with a black ribbon, the bow drooping in wide loops. Her skirt was black, too, offset by her white blouse. She held a tissue in one hand. It was stained black at the corner where she must have been wiping away tears mixed with mascara.
    Matt started to head down the aisle between the chairs. Before he could introduce himself, there was a high-pitched squawk from the PA system as somebody turned on a mike. The man testing it seemed to be a preacher of some sort, but Matt was pretty sure he had gotten ordained online. He had a peace symbol around his neck next to his cross. Both were framed by his unbuttoned jean jacket.
    “Hey, guys, could you please find your seats? I promise I won’t keep you long. Just have a few words to say about Uncle Quent.”
    People started wandering in. Uncle Quent knew some good-looking people. Matt caught himself staring at a woman in a black A-line dress. The bottom trim was black lace that acted as a veil for the tattoo on her thigh. It was hard to tell what it was because the lace kept sliding back and forth as she walked down the aisle toward him. When she stopped he made a silent Aha as he realized it was a skull. He was pleased with himself until he looked up and saw her eyes narrow at him. He quickly took a seat.
    He wasn’t able to sit next to the boy’s mother, but there was a seat opened behind her. He leaned forward and tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned to look at him, her eyes were glassy, a tear trembling at each corner. She held up her tissue and blew her nose. She was stunning.
    Matt just stared for a second. Her eyebrows arched in a question, and he finally introduced himself. “Hey, I’m Matt. The, uh, small gentleman by the door said you knew Quentin.”
    “His name’s Adam.” Her voice sounded low and sultry, but that was probably just the snot.
    “He said you were living with my uncle?” Matt said.
    “I’m Christy.” After another blow into her tissue her voice cleared up a bit. “I live here. In my own room.” She emphasized that last part with another raised eyebrow.
    “Did he mention me at all?” Matt asked.
    “You said your name is Matt?”
    “Yeah.”
    “No.”
    “What?” Matt was confused.
    “No, he didn’t mention you,” she said.
    Matt pulled his uncle’s letter out of his back pocket and unfolded it. Christy must have thought the conversation was over because she turned back around toward the stage. Matt was about to offer her the letter when Preacher.com started speaking again.
    “Thank you all for coming. I’m sure Uncle Quent would have been both surprised and amused by the turnout today.” This was met with a few chuckles and a couple of snorts.
    “Quentin Bradley James was a son of a bitch.”