“We’ll need a list for the county.”

“They’re on the coffee table.

I’ll sort them out later,” I said, and that was the first lie I told that night.

Then the older one laid her hand on my elbow.

“I’m so sorry, Miss Ona.

Your mama is gone.”

For a while nobody said a word.

The monitor on the floor clicked off, and the silence spread down the hall until it reached the back bedroom.