“You’re right, Claire. I did break his heart and yours and Ruth’s and anybody who ever tried to help me. And you’re right; it’s not fair that I’m here and he’s not.” She sucks in air, eyes bright. “But this memorial is meant to honor him, and I am staying to do exactly that. And so should you.” Her tone is firm, stern, the one I remember when I was scolded for lying as a little girl.

Ruth straightens her shoulders. “Alice is here because she loved Vance and wanted to be a part of celebrating his life. She has every right to be here.” Ruth takes a step toward me. “And so do you, Claire. I know this is painful and horrible and unexpected. I know it doesn’t fit within your system and that losing him is so big and deep that we all want to disappear inside of it.”

A roaring inside my head drowns her out. Images flash in a merry-go-round parade of Dad. Holding me when I was little, safe inside his arms; fishing together; the frustrated twist of his lips when he had to meet with the teachers again because of something I’d done; the smile that never dimmed when I graduated. A sob wells too big in my throat, and I can’t let it out, because I don’t think I’ll ever stop crying.

Ruth grips my elbow. “Some things, Claire.” I see her inhale, and her voice is stronger when she says, “Some people are worth remembering even when it hurts.” She tucks something into my hand. A notecard with a solitary sentence that slices my heart in two. Vance died of a heart attack.

The truth slams into my body, and my only response is to allow myself to be led into the meeting room, where Ruth sits me in a chair in the front row.

I am empty. I am numb. I am lost. I read the note card over and over until the room fills with the quiet sniffles and soft voices of my friends and neighbors.