I did not yet know that it was not coming.

Chapter 3 — We Can’t Come

Then my mother, Cynthia, snatched the phone away from him.

“What do you mean, gone, Hannah?” she demanded, impatient, as though I had interrupted something.

“They died this morning, in a collision,” I sobbed.

“The funeral is this coming Friday, and I need you both here with me.”

My father took the phone back.

“Did you say Friday?” he asked.