Coworkers sent flowers and cards.

I was grateful, but the kitchen became a place where other people made plans while I stared at a chair Hannah would never use again.

Kenneth answered most of the calls.

He was good at thanking people.

Sometimes I wanted him to stop speaking for me.

Sometimes I was relieved that he could.

One evening, he came into the living room with a list of funeral arrangements.

“I was thinking about the song she played on repeat in the car,” he said.