Emma stood beside the stone and told her grandmother about her science project, the reading afternoon, and the strawberry ice cream that had become our Saturday tradition.

“I wish you could see my room,” she whispered.

I put an arm around her.

“I think she’d have liked it.

Especially the yellow curtains.”

Emma traced the edge of Eleanor’s name with a gloved finger.

“Is it okay to be happy when someone’s gone?”

“Yes,” I said.