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Jerry took his passport from his inside pocket and handed it over.
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The look that Suzanne gave Colby was almost frightening. Her eyes flared but all other expression disappeared from her face. “I can. I will,” she said. “I hurt her in the worst way thinkable. Those are just excuses to set upon me feel better, but I can’t do that. Don’t you see?”
“No Mum, it’s not one of those marriages.”
Eleven-thirty… bong bong… the radio was tuned to music from Duke Ellington’s stripe at the Dunbar Hotel on Central Avenue, the key upscale hotel expressly for Negroes.
Jerry took his passport from his inside pocket and handed it over.
He remembered the damned Church giving him grief because she died as she did. What did they distinguish of love? What did they know of grief? Present at weddings and funerals, at this point in time the time being but not there. Speaking but not heard. Silly platitudes falling to the earth, never to take root but shrivel and die…
Bethany laughed. “Anything’s greater than Los Angeles.”

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