Margaret’s hands closed on the wheel.

She had had this conversation before, professionally, more than once.

She knew what the literature said.

She knew that a very large proportion of bereaved children — and adults, for that matter — report the presence of the dead, and that this is not pathology, and that the worst thing an adult can do is either argue with it or feed it.

“Sweetheart,” she said carefully, “when we miss somebody very badly, sometimes it can feel—”

“She’s behind you.”