“Martha, my dear,” her neighbor June had whispered in the message, her voice shaking with worry.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, but I think they are getting ready to bury Christopher tomorrow morning.”

Martha had been standing in her quiet kitchen in her nightgown, holding a damp dish towel while the evening dishes dried by the sink.

“What on earth are you talking about, June?”

“There is an official memorial notice posted online,” June explained.

“My granddaughter showed it to me on her tablet.”

June had read the text of the notice aloud over the line.