“Not another word,” Bonnie says, as though Elizabeth had just thanked her. “We came early to help. Now what can we do?”

The rest of our guests trickle in around six, six fifteen, six thirty, and suddenly the house is full. There aren’t so many people—maybe thirty, maybe more—but the activity is such a contrast to our lives of late that it feels amplified, magnified. Simone doesn’t show, but Ray and Emily do. They bring Bianca, who has changed far too much since the last time I saw her.

“Leon couldn’t make it,” Ray tells me. “Band practice.”

“Good for him,” I say. We make small talk and I take drink orders, but when I leave, Ray follows me to the bar. He tells me he was glad to be invited, and how he hopes we can talk, and I look around the room and say, “Oh, shit. Hold that thought. I need to grab something. Be right back.” I hurry off, pretending to launch an urgent search for olives, but Ray isn’t dumb. He must know this isn’t the time or place. I wait until he’s locked into a focused conversation with Bonnie’s pastor before I slip back into the mix, joining a conversation already in progress.

Lamont Carver is saying, “Only at open-casket funerals.”

His wife, Kelly, says, “I did when I was ten. My grandmother died at home, and I’ll never forget my mother forcing me to go into her room to pay my respects. Oh, but there you are, Bobby. My God. To see a body like that? My heart just aches for you all.”

I repeat my standard reply: “I’m just glad no one else had to witness it.”

People agree. My son, who has been hovering throughout, adds, “Some silver lining.”

Kelly grabs his hand and tells him he’s in her prayers, and now it’s someone else’s turn to share war stories. Jonah is polite but transparent as he waits for the lull that doesn’t come. Finally, he nudges me and mutters, “Dad, can you talk for a sec?”

I excuse us. “What is it?”

“I’m only saying this because I’d want to know if I were you—no judgment, just saying—but you should check in on Elizabeth.”

“Check in?”

“She’s really been drinking.”

“So?”

“Like, a lot. She seems drunk.”

“I’m sure she’s fine.”

“She’s drunk, Dad.”

“She’s fine. I’ll deal with it, okay?”

“If you say so.”

I assess the scene and change course. “Nice party, isn’t it?”

Jonah shakes his head and walks away. His signature move.