“The worst part is that I could’ve had the chance to say goodbye if I’d gotten to him right after the accident. And all my life I’d heard my father talk about how he never had the chance to say goodbye to my mother. That he came home and she was dead.” My eyes are dry, but my throat is scratchy from speaking for so long without interruption. “I remember saying bye to her. Even though she had no way of knowing that was her day to go. Maybe it’s a false memory. But I like to think it’s real. And I hold on to that. Because it’s too unfair if both my parents were taken from me without a proper farewell, you know?”

Dr. Ihm nods. We have ten minutes left of the session.

34

April 1997

The next few days are a blur.

Annie is in the shadows, and she enjoys this. This time she enjoys not being seen. Because the bustle is too much for her. The agony and the careful stream of people. The Shiva.

Mr. Keller doesn’t know how to handle it all. He delegates all the tasks to Annie, who doesn’t know the first thing about the Jewish religion, much less about organizing a Jewish funeral. So then Mrs. Keller’s best friend, Nance, steps in. She drives up from the city and stays there, tut-tutting at the way the Annie does the laundry, the way she bathes Suzy. She plants herself in the house and doesn’t leave, and Annie hates her for it. Hates how she picks up Suzy, snuggles her close to her ample breasts, calls her poor dear, her hair reeking of spray. Annie hates the slabs of meat she sticks in the oven, the clingy black dress she wears to the funeral. The way she hovers around Annie at Suzy’s bedtime, shoving her out and saying that it’s her turn to put Suzy to bed, the poor little duckling.

The highlight of these days, however, is how much Suzy clings to Annie. However much Nance wants to draw her away, Suzy still climbs into Annie’s bed, still wants Annie to play with her at any given moment. Sometimes she asks Annie, “Where’s Mama?” And Annie answers, in a low whisper, “I’ll be your mama soon, baby.” Suzy likes that. She always hugs Annie after that, gives her a kiss.

There’s an immense inflow of people and food and flowers, most of them from the city, but many from LA or New Orleans or far off places like Buenos Aires. Claudette works overtime, brings in her sister to help out since there are so many meals to serve and bathrooms to clean. Annie keeps to herself. No one talks to her, so she talks to no one. She hears things, though, throughout the next seven days, as guests filter in and out, their numbers dwindling.