I can’t tell them details. If we can all manage to spare them that, at least for today, it might ease the blow. They might want to see the body. Everyone mourns differently. I won’t be the one to describe it, here in their sitting room, where they work and curl up together, where Avery left her shoes strewn by the TV set, canvas flats with purple stitched flowers.

“She was happy,” I say. “All day. We were going to have a picnic out on the lawn. She wanted to try a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She was bringing juice out and the kids were waving at her and she was smiling.”

I stop there. It’s enough, it’s a picture. A true one.

Gemma’s eyes are glittering. “She loved them so much, Lady Tr—”

“Nina,” I cut in, insistent.

She nods. “Nina, I have to tell you, she came home every day just full of stories of them. Little silly things Emma did or how clever Charlie was. She was just proud, like she was their big sister. They were a real light in her life, and we are so grateful.”

I reach over and take her hand. She holds on like I’m keeping her from rushing away in a current, and I marvel at how she’s gone straight into past tense, just like that. Avery is in the past. I can’t hear any effort in the blend, pain paired with instant acceptance.

I can’t accept it. Maybe there’s something to the fact that they’re both from Lute families, generations old, and everything is tangled up in the past here, everyone is lost eventually, and some part of you is saying goodbye from the moment of hello, but I don’t understand this, it’s not working its way through me very quickly at all.

Gemma’s head slumps and Tom starts to cry and—no. I’m wrong. They’re not used to this. They may know the script, but no one ever gets used to this.

Gemma’s hand slips politely away, smooths the edge of the sofa beside her. Matthew was right; this moment would be clear to anyone with sense enough to see it. It’s time for me to go, to let them react the way they need to, together and alone.

“Our door is open up at the house,” I say as I stand.

They rise too, forcing smiles with incredible strength of will.

“If you’re up for company today, if you need anything at all, please come and join us.”

“Are you doing the dinner?” Tom asks, and Gemma stiffens, shooting him a look, like he’s being incredibly rude.