An emergency nurse brought water that sat untouched on the table.

I kept noticing a tiny cut on my knuckle, made when I caught the edge of Rachel’s casket at the viewing.

I had spent the morning saying goodbye to that hand; now my hand was still capable of holding hers.

When Joanne arrived, she had Lucas’s damp coat over her arm.

Kyle walked behind her, already on the telephone.

“We should keep the family’s statements consistent,” he told somebody.

I looked at him.