“Packed house every night.”

She opened the front door and he stepped out onto the porch, then turned to her and said: “Look, I know it’s none of my business, okay, but have you ever thought about getting involved in volunteer work? I mean, I think you should continue going to counseling, but why the hell not focus your anger and grief? I could give you names of people at a couple of different child welfare organizations who’d be more than happy to bring you aboard, train you. It’s a way to make a difference.”

“You’re right,” said Lucy. “It’s none of your business.”

She was closing the door when he pressed his hand against it and said, “Listen to me. Fifteen years ago a kid named Andy Leonard went on a shooting spree and killed a bunch of people, a lot of them in Moundbuilders Park where they were watching the fireworks that Fourth of July. My sister was there with my niece and nephew. My wife and me, we don’t have any kids ourselves, so my sister’s kids sort of adopted us as their second parents. We loved them dearly. My nephew was seven, my niece was three. Andy Leonard killed them both. My sister got a bullet in her leg, that was all. It damn near killed all of us, the kids getting shot to death like that. My sister didn’t handle it very well—hell, who could? There was more than one night I had to leave work early to go talk her out of a drunken, suicidal rage. But she got through it. You know why? It finally dawned on her that being bitter like she was, thinking about killing herself and hating the whole goddamn world, well…it was an offense to the memory of her children, to all the love and happiness they’d brought into her life. For a while there, I didn’t think any of us were going to be able to move beyond what happened, but we did. I’m not saying that I don’t find myself just crying like a baby sometimes when I think about all the things I’m never going to be able to do with my niece and nephew…but I remember all the hugs and kisses they gave me, I remember their sweet childhood secrets they told me with these serious looks on their little faces…and I’m grateful for being blessed with what little time I did have them in my life. You can move beyond that kind of pain. I also think you can move beyond your Walls of Madness and use your anger and grief to do something positive.”

“Why do you even care?”

“Because I loathe waste, Miss Thompson, and that’s all you’re doing with the drinking and those newspaper clippings. You’re wasting life that you’ll never get back. Never.”

“I’ll be sure to impart your wisdom to my daughter, if I ever see her again.”

With that, she slammed closed the door, locked it, then ran into the bathroom and threw up.