“You must be Eileen.” She pressed forward and took Eileen’s hand between her two cold palms. “I’m Katherine, Clare’s publicist.” Her brow crease deepened. “I’m so very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Eileen managed to whisper.

“We’re just getting started. Are you able to join us?”

She didn’t want to. She would much rather climb the stairs to her room, strip down, fall into bed, and sleep for the next three days. One look at Simon’s blank expression told her she wasn’t alone. She wondered if he was actually getting worse as the hours since her sister’s suicide added up. With every passing minute, the reality became clearer for Simon, less deniable. His wife was dead; she was never coming back.

“Yes, I’m ready,” Eileen said, taking the empty seat on the couch next to her brother-in-law and across from these charged and efficient women being paid to help navigate their grief. “What do you need me to do?”

“Wonderful,” the dark-haired funeral planner said, beaming. “I’m Regina,” she said as she stood and extended her hand to shake Eileen’s as well. Her barely checked exuberance belied her excitement to be working on such a large event. As she gently clasped Eileen’s hand, her deep-set brown eyes connected and held Eileen’s with a determined sincerity. “Please, as we move through the details, I want you to feel free to ask any question, make any request.” She removed her hand from Eileen’s and placed it over her heart. “I am here to make this process as simple and pain-free as possible.”

Simon stood up suddenly, drawing all attention to himself. For a moment he looked lost, as if he couldn’t quite remember where he was or what he was supposed to be doing. He reached out a heavy hand that landed on Eileen’s forearm like an anchor. “Can I speak to you? In private?” he whispered near her ear despite the fact that the other two women could clearly hear him.