They got out of the car. Mr. Martin smiled at me and took my hands. “My dear, we are so concerned about the shock to you. We want you to call your parents.”

“A terrible thing happened,” I answered. “There was a black widow spider in the bathroom and I tried to kill it with some medicine and I broke the bottle. The smell is everywhere. Some medicine Aunt Gaye had.”

He had my hands in his. “That’s not important. Don’t worry about that now. Are you all right?”

“We’ll get a maid over here,” Mrs. Martin put in. “Malcolm’s cousin Minx is coming. I’ll have her bring a maid.” She turned to Malcolm. “Oh, son, they’re bringing her body up this morning. We need to go to the funeral home. Oh son.” She tried to put her arms around him. She clasped his waist, but he didn’t hug her back. His arms stayed at his sides. The impenetrable expression did not leave his face.

“Let’s go in,” Mr. Martin said. “Let’s go inside.” We walked into the house. I could smell the Betadine from the front hall. The smell was everywhere.

“Can you smell it?” I asked. “I’m so embarrassed. I’m sorry I broke the bottle.”

“Don’t worry about anything,” Mr. Martin answered. “You’re a fine brave girl. A fine brave girl.”

“I have to stay another day,” I told my mother, when I got her on the phone. “I’ve already called the college. They said I could stay. I have to stay and help them, Mother. His aunt died in her sleep. She was this gorgeous woman. They’re really nice people, Mother. Wait a minute. They want to talk to you.” I put Mr. Martin on the phone and he introduced himself and they talked awhile. Then Mrs. Martin took the phone from him. The doorbell was ringing. It was Malcolm’s first cousin, Henry, and his wife, Minx. Henry and Minx were very chic, very popular young Atlantans who were dedicated to reliving the lives of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald. They came sweeping in carrying flowers and wiping tears with ironed handkerchiefs and immediately took me to their bosom. “We heard all about you,” they said. “We heard you had a column in a newspaper when you were only a child.”

“It’s true,” I said. “I am a prodigy, I guess you’d call it.”

“This is terrible,” Minx said. “This is the worst tragedy I’ve ever seen. Henry’s mother just died last year. There are only two sisters left, out of five. Malcolm’s mother and Aunt Lily in Monroe. Imagine that. Oh, it’s steeped in tragedy.”

“We’re going to the funeral home with you,” Henry said. “We came to see the body.”

“What is that smell?” Minx asked. “What is that terrible smell?”