The door was opened by a strange young woman of thirty or so, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. She looked at me questioningly without saying anything. When a minute had stretched by without her speaking, I finally gave her my name.

“I’m an old friend of Nancy’s. I’d like to talk to Mrs. Cleghorn for a few minutes if she’s up to seeing me.” “I’ll go ask,” she muttered.

She came back again, hunched a shoulder, told me I could go on in, and returned to whatever she’d been doing when I rang the bell. I was startled by the clamor when I got into the little foyer—it was more like the noisy house of Nancy’s and my childhood than a place of mourning.

As I followed the sound toward the living room, two small boys erupted from it, chasing each other with sweet rolls they were using as guns. The lead one caromed into me and bounced off without apology. I sidestepped the other and looked cautiously around the doorway before entering.

The long, homey room was packed with people. I didn’t recognize any of them, but assumed the men were Nancy’s four brothers grown to adulthood. The three young women were presumably their wives. What looked like a nursery school in full session was crammed around the edges, with children jabbing each other, scuffling, giggling, ignoring adult admonitions for silence.

No one paid any attention to me, but I finally spied Ellen Cleghorn at the far end of the room, holding a howling baby without much enthusiasm. When she saw me she struggled to her feet and gave the baby to one of the young women. She picked her way through her swarming grandchildren to me.

“I’m so sorry about Nancy,” I said, squeezing her hand. “And I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this.”

“I’m glad you came, dear,” she said, giving a warm smile and kissing my cheek. “The boys mean well—they all took the day off and thought it would cheer up Grandma to see the kiddies—but the chaos is too much for me. Let’s go into the dining room. There’s cake in there and one of the girls is making coffee.”

Ellen Cleghorn had aged well. She was a plumper edition of Nancy, with the same frizzy blond hair. It had darkened with time rather than graying and her skin was still soft and clear. She had been divorced for many years, ever since her husband ran off with another woman. She’d never gotten child support or alimony and had raised her large family on her meager earnings as a librarian, always making room for me at the dinner table after basketball practice.

Ellen had been unique on the South Side in her indifference to housekeeping. The disarray in the dining room was much as I remembered it, with dust balls in the corners and books and papers shoved to one side to make room for the food. Even so, the house had always seemed romantic to me when I was young. It was one of a handful of big homes in the neighborhood—Mr. Cleghorn had been a grade school principal before he decamped—and all five children had their own bedrooms. Unheard-of luxury on the South Side. Nancy’s even had a little turreted window where we acted out Bluebeard.