She stared at the ceiling for a long time.

“He always listens for me,” she said.

She explained that during thunderstorms she used to call his name softly from the kitchen so he knew where she was.

When he had nightmares, she sang a silly two-note tune through his bedroom door.

It was possible that sound and memory had become tangled at the graveside.

It was also possible he had heard something we could never reconstruct.

Rachel did not insist on one explanation.