We ate chicken, potatoes and the apple cake Joanne always made for birthdays.

Nobody mentioned the case until Lucas asked whether we could light a candle.

“For Mommy being here,” he explained.

Rachel reached across the table and took his hand.

We found one small candle, set it in the center of the cake, and let him blow it out.

It was not a celebration of the tragedy.

It was a celebration of an ordinary meal we had almost lost.

PART 12