“There’s been a mistake!” Ella shouted, with an officious authority she’d not actually possessed in decades. As if she’d been called upon to clear an unruly mob, Ella’s right hand moved to her arthritic hip, where it rested on her now-invisible sidearm. “Folks!” she called out.

“What the hell is happening?” Simon asked, leaning into Eileen’s left side.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave the premises in a calm and orderly fashion.” Ella held up her sagging left arm, calling for the attention of everyone at the funeral. “There has been a terrible misunderstanding. I was there myself.”

Both the nurse and counselor approached Ella with hands raised and heads crouched, like she was a silverback gorilla that had escaped its zoo habitat and they were afraid of startling her into a rampage.

“Ella?” the nurse soothed. “Everything’s okay. We’re here to help you.”

Eileen watched her mother turn toward the two women, her face set in an expression of stony command. “Ladies,” she said, taking a step toward them to establish her jurisdiction over them and this situation. “I’m going to ask you one more time to disperse. Now please collect your belongings and exit the premises with the others in a timely and orderly fashion.”

The two women looked momentarily shocked, like they were suddenly questioning if they should, in fact, be listening to what Officer Kaczanowski was ordering them to do.

The entire funeral had stopped. The guests standing next to the coffin turned away from Clare, their curiosity getting the better of them. Others who were still seated either craned their necks or turned in their chairs, obviously unsure of what was happening and what they should do.

“Do we need to leave?” one woman a few rows back asked out loud. “Is there a problem?”

“Eileen,” Simon begged, grasping her forearm. “Please, do something.”

Yes, but what exactly? She felt like a limp rag in her seat. “Mom?” she tried, her voice thin and childlike in her own ears. She was not at all sure her mother would even recognize her.

Hearing her, a look of surprise washed over Ella’s face, and she turned to Eileen. Seconds ticked as Ella stared down at her, the contaminated cogs of her mind working through the sight of her younger daughter at the funeral for her older. What year was it for Ella? What state were they in? How old did she believe Eileen was, and did that number make sense in relation to the middle-aged woman she saw in front of her?

Some mental consensus was reached. Ella’s face softened, and she motioned to Eileen to come here, come quick, as she once again scanned the crowd.