He checked his gold cufflinks, straightened his silk necktie, and leaned over to say something to Evelyn.

Evelyn sat rigidly beside him, her hands folded on top of her leather handbag, her designer scarf drawn up tight around her chin.

Ethan sat at the far end of the bench, three feet away from our mother.

His backpack lay on the floor between his knees, with the corner of his navy journal poking out of the side pocket.

He kept his head bowed, staring at the gray vein running through the marble floor tile.