And Christopher stood there.

He did not shout at Michelle.

He did not shout at his mother.

He stood on that stage in a linen jacket and he said one thing, twice, in a voice Sarah described as “completely reasonable, which was the worst part of it.”

“Whose are they?”

And then again, to the lawn, as though somebody out there might know: “Whose are they?”

Michelle said Brandon’s name out loud.