“I think she wanted to die young,” says one woman, a platinum blonde who Annie thinks Mrs. Keller knew from college. “She always had that air about her. She hated the idea of being old. She wanted to die a legend.” Her companion, a sinewy, elegantly dressed man, gapes at her in horror.

“Stephanie, you can not say that!” He looks around furtively, not noticing Annie absentmindedly cleaning the dishes, their conversation on the porch within earshot. “At least wait until you’re out of the dead’s home before speaking ill of them.”

Bethany slaps the table. “I’m not speaking ill! It’s how she wanted to go. I wonder, though, which predatory hawk is going to swoop down and pluck Nicky up. Do you know if she gave anyone her blessing? Daniella Schiller has been eyeing him since their Xenon days. I saw her dabbing on some extra mascara before the temple service.”

Her companion whistles low and long. “That is cold. He’ll remarry soon enough, though. Single fatherhood never lasts that long.” The blonde nods and sips at her drink. Annie retreats upstairs as their conversation turns to a more banal subject.

And then there are the conversations about Suzy, murmurs that stop Annie short. “Poor girl,” a stately woman with a British accent whispers to her husband, a man whose mouth reminds Annie of a wound, as they watch Suzy bump toy trucks. “I’m glad Nicky’s moving back to the city. This house is so isolating, that town so dreary. A child like Susanna needs to grow up in a real place, with cultured people.”

One evening, Annie is getting ready for bed, making herself some tea in the kitchen, when Nance walks in. She’s wearing a ruby satin bathrobe, her hair big as ever. She’s overstayed her welcome, in Annie’s opinion. The last guest left two days ago. But apparently Mrs. Keller had specifically asked Nance to take care of her clothes, her jewelry. She’d drawn up a list of what she wanted saved for Suzy, what she wanted donated, what she wanted sold. And somehow this process was taking over a week.

“When’s your birthday, Annie?” Nance asks, her body turned to the fridge. She grabs a block of cheese before getting a cutting board and cutting off a slice.

Annie tells her, and Nance snaps her fingers.

“I knew it. You’re such a Taurus. Patient, dependable. You’ll make a great mom someday.” It is the kindest thing Nance has said to her all week, and Annie feels herself blushing, the heat rising from her neck.