My father in his church suit, sitting rigidly straight, his written statement folded in his breast pocket like a boarding pass he was terrified someone would revoke.

Chelsea, who walked directly past our mother’s defense table without turning her head, in a plain navy dress I guarantee was chosen for its plainness.

The mannequin, off duty.

On strike.

And Renee.

Flown back from Santa Fe on nine days’ notice.