Elizabeth is on the porch, listening to college kids tell stories about Nick: how they knew him, how he changed them, how much he’ll be missed. At the edge of nearby brush, the fireflies flash mating calls. Before Elizabeth can ask where I’ve been, I mouth, “Later,” and she nods, which is fine by her, it seems, since she’s engrossed in the conversation, clicking beer bottles with strangers and calling them by name. I’m half asleep in my head, and still a bit punch-drunk from my run-in with Hank Skillman, so I’m relieved to notice the slight flare of Elizabeth’s nostrils, the subtle pinch of her brow bone as she suppresses back-to-back yawns. I cover my mouth and yawn, too. Jonah smacks his neck and says something about the mosquitos, and just like that, Nick’s buddies are gathering their empty bottles and bringing them inside to leave by the kitchen sink. Jonah’s searching for the recycle bin, but Naomi tells him to leave it.

“For once in my life, I’ve hired help to deal with dishes tonight,” she says, prompting a round of affirmations from the women. Men straighten their ties and search for their wives’ handbags.

Naomi Miller holds one of my hands and one of Elizabeth’s and makes us promise to call her if we’re ever back in the area, and she hugs us hard but holds me back to say, “You have a wonderful son, Dr. Hart.”

“Robert. Please.”

“I hope you’re very proud. Devoted, sensitive, so very smart. Majoring in English, yes?”

I nod, although this is the first I’ve heard of it.

“He was a wonderful friend to Nick. You know, I’ve been thinking about how much Nick must have been suffering”—she flutters one hand by her face, waving off emotion—“and how maybe he never would have beaten those demons, no matter what, but maybe he was able to hang on longer because of his friends. Maybe Jonah made it possible for me to have a little more time with my Nick. I’ll forever be grateful for that.”

I pat her hand. “It was far too soon.”

She nods. “Treasure your child.” Looks me in the eye. “Do that, please.” Her nose flushes. She blinks in triple-time. “I’m so sorry. How can a person even cry this much? Where does it come from?” She wheezes out a tiny laugh.

I say, “Your brain is producing leucine enkephalin. It’s normal. It’s what happens when we cry. Your body is making a natural painkiller to help you survive this, and it’s washing stress hormones out of your tear ducts. Those tears are coming from the part of you that wants to heal.”