Eileen whispered like she was telling a dirty secret. “He was like the town hero. And he gets drunk at a party, crashes his truck, kills himself and almost kills his girlfriend. Some people have been weird about it. Almost like it affected them, somehow, personally. Saying things like, Adam was no good, and that they always thought something wasn’t right with him. Other mean things, like he wasn’t really all everyone thought he was. Mom says that some of them are taking it personally because it’s like they lost something special, even if it was just being close to someone else’s greatness. I think they should just get their own lives.”

“What about Kaylee?”

“After the funeral, she and her parents left town.”

There had been a funeral for Adam, and Clare had not been at it—that in and of itself was hard to comprehend. Adam’s body was in a box in the ground. “Left town for where? Did they take Kaylee to school?”

Eileen shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe, but I think they were also getting some phone calls, people saying things about Adam and hanging up. Someone…” Eileen started but snapped her mouth shut.

“What?”

Eileen sighed, obviously wishing she hadn’t said so much. “Someone, in the middle of the night, threw a brick through their living room window and then a basketball. At least that’s what I heard.”

The cruelty of people was astounding. The Collinses were good people, people who had lost their only son.

“Who would do that?”

“Assholes.”

“It was an accident,” Clare said. “It’s not like Adam meant to hurt anyone.”

“Yes,” Eileen said. “But he was really drunk, Clare…you could have died.”

Clare could have died, and on the ride home from the hospital, she wished she had. As soon as she was more stable on her own two feet, Clare would walk the mile from her house to Saint Joseph’s Cemetery to see Adam’s grave for herself. She didn’t think she would be able to believe he was gone until she had seen his headstone with her own two eyes.

“When we get home, I want you to head straight to your own bed and get some rest,” her mother instructed.

“I’ve done nothing but rest for the last four months.”

“Your body was busy healing, not resting. Plus, a hospital bed is not like your own. I imagine your first night back at home you’ll sleep like the de—”

They both let the poor word choice slide away without comment or apology. “When is Roland expecting me back at work?”