The funeral was that Saturday.

Evelyn picked out the flowers and didn’t ask me to carry anything.

The reading was scheduled for Thursday at two fifteen, at Marcus’s office in the strip mall on Wornall.

The lobby smelled of carpet shampoo and old paper.

Evelyn arrived first and had already taken the chair closest to the brass handle on the door.

“You couldn’t change out of that fleece?” she said.

“I came straight from work.”