Logan’s Uncle Ray, who is seventy-eight and had never once called me in thirteen years, rang on a Sunday morning and said, “I was at that party and I want you to know I walked out at half past nine and I told my sister-in-law why,” and then he could not think of anything else to say and asked me about my car.

The woman who had done Gertrude’s hair for twenty years sent me a card.

Two of the cousins from Riverside — women in their fifties I had spoken to maybe six times — took me to lunch and said almost nothing about the situation and paid, and I understood exactly what that lunch was and I have never forgotten it.

About fifteen people did nothing at all, which is what most people do, and which I hold against nobody.

And four took a position.