“The rest of the family may follow.”

Shirley was on her feet before I could gather my purse, her hand beneath my elbow, helping me up as though I were made of glass and might shatter on the carpet.

Nancy appeared at my left.

Douglas held the door.

Clinton was already inside, standing at the window with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, staring out at the street.

I walked in under my own power, thinking, as I went, how much Lawrence had always hated this kind of fuss — how he had always insisted, proudly, that I was strong enough to walk on my own two feet without being coddled.