She nodded and allowed him to lead her away from the white couch to the corner of the room near the large plate-glass window overlooking the lawn and pool. When he stopped and turned, Simon grabbed both Eileen’s upper arms in his viselike grip. “Can you handle this?” he asked her, his voice cracking. Eileen watched as he broke. His eyes welled up, and it seemed as if the weight of all his grief was culminating in this very moment. “They asked me…on that table…there is a catalogue of coffins.” Tears streamed down his face that now looked wild and—if Eileen didn’t understand all he was trying to process—insane. “Please, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. All I want to tell them is no, we’re not doing any of this. We’re not choosing lacquered boxes to put Clare inside. I can’t even think, never mind fucking flowers. I don’t give a shit about who is invited. The whole fucking world has ended for me.”

“Simon.” Eileen took both his hands in hers and shifted her head until he was looking into her eyes. “Go upstairs,” she whispered before taking him in her arms. She rubbed Simon’s back, like she would to comfort any of her three kids, while he sobbed silently into her hair. When she pulled away, she placed her hands on either side of his rough and stubbly face. “Go upstairs and go to bed. I’ll make sure she has only the best of everything. Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it, okay?”

Simon nodded his head between her hands. “Thank you,” he said, his relief at being excused from planning Clare’s goodbye from this world was palpable. He turned and left the room without so much as a glance at the other two women waiting patiently and politely for the storm to pass.

Eileen watched Simon leave the room then turned to face the two women waiting to get on with planning the parade that would send the beloved Clare Collins from this world.

Eileen swallowed, took a breath, and headed back to the table. Five hours. That was what it took to shore up the guest list, floral arrangements, memorial location, music, catering, route to the cemetery with police escort, press release, media campaign, and finally, the burial site and specifications for Clare’s coffin. When the other two women finally rose from their seats with promises to wrap up the final details, Eileen sat back against the down-filled couch and felt the muscles in her back release as the ache traveled up her spine and radiated out across both her shoulders.