But she did. And no matter how much I—or any of us—wish, she’s not even here for us to chastise. As the oldest, I got away with telling her off, and if she were here, it would give her an excuse to cuss me back out. She always accused me of thinking I’m “so damn smart and know every-damn-thang.” But I don’t, Mama. I don’t know anything except that I want the calendar to flip back a day, the clock to tick in reverse for forty-eight hours so we can go back and do this shit differently, do this right, so that Viola Price will be able to breathe on her own. So that there will be no funeral in three days.

None of us are actually talking. We’re just moving through this house like zombies. Charlotte’s not here. She said she’s got too much to do trying to get things ready for friends and relatives coming in from all over, and did we forget about Quiet Hour? When everybody comes to her house after the services?

We’re still waiting to find out if they’re going to let Lewis out for the funeral. Daddy called and said he’s coming by later. He sounded old. Tired. Like he might not survive this. I feel sorry for him. Even if he’d been thinking about coming back home, it’s too late now.

Janelle and I have to go through Mama’s things all by ourselves. I’ve never gone through her things before. Never gone through anybody’s things. We haven’t started, because Miss Loretta’s on her way over here. She said she has to tell us something. Something important. I’ve just been opening and closing the kitchen drawers, wondering what we’re going to do with all these forks and knives and spoons. When I looked in Mama’s linen closet, there were tons of sheets and pillowcases, all of which had been starched and ironed and stacked flat. She even had a separate pile of handkerchiefs. I never once saw Mama with a handkerchief in her hand.

“Paris, wake up! Miss Loretta’s here,” I hear Janelle say. She’s shaking me. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep on the couch.

“Okay!” I yell, sitting up, but feel a crick in my neck.

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s all right, Miss Loretta. How are you?”

“I’m probably feeling pretty much like you all, if you can understand that.”

“We do,” Janelle says. “We do.”

“Mind if I sit?”

“No,” I say, sliding over. “Dingus! Shanice!”

“Yes, Ma?”

“What are you two doing out there?”

“Nothing much. Looking at Granny’s little garden. It’s tight. She’s got a bunch of stuff growing out here.”

“Please stay out there until I say it’s okay to come in, can you do that?”

“Yes, we can.”

“Now,” I say, turning to Miss Loretta, “what did you want to tell us?”

“Where’s your brother and other sister?”

“He’s been detained. We’re hoping he’ll be in Chicago for the service. And Charlotte lives there, so she’s trying to make sure everything’s organized.”