We ate warm casserole straight from the baking dish and traded memories that were too ordinary for a eulogy.

Arthur’s terrible jokes.

The time he accidentally watered silk flowers.

The way he saved rubber bands around a doorknob.

When Mrs.

Alvarez left, I wrote her name in the margin of an empty grocery list.

I didn’t know why.

I only knew that Arthur had been part of a web of people, and it would be easy for those connections to vanish if nobody bothered to remember them.