It might feel like losing her all over again.

I sat with that thought on the drive home.

At a red light I almost called Eleanor’s old number out of habit.

My phone still held it under *Home*, as though one day she might answer.

Instead, I pulled into the cemetery on the north side of town.

Laura had no traditional grave because we’d been given an urn, but Eleanor lay beneath a plain stone surrounded by flowers Denise sometimes refreshed.

I brought nothing.