Robin exhaled. Gently, she brushed a lock of hair from her mother’s forehead. And then she nodded. She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t need to. Her mother was making things easy on her, just like she’d always done, ever since she was a little girl. Watching her now, struggling to hold back tears for her daughter’s sake, for my sake, Robin remembered the death of her father’s mother, her most beloved Nana. It had been sudden and unexpected and after Dad had gotten off the phone with whoever had called to tell him, he’d locked himself in his study for such a long time that Robin, then only six or seven years old, feared he might never come out. She understood now that he’d gone in there to cry. Mitchell Bloom never cried in front of anyone back then. Which left it up to Mom to explain what had happened—Mom, an only child and an orphan, whose only family besides Robin and Dad had been Nana too. But she’d held back her tears then, same as she was doing now. Nana’s gone to heaven. She’s very happy up there, because instead of visiting a few times a year, she can see you and watch over you always.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” Robin said.

Two tears spilled down her mother’s cheeks—escapees. She didn’t seem to notice. “Was he buried?”

“Yes.”

“There was a funeral. You held a funeral.”

“Yes.”

“With that child rabbi . . .”

Robin smiled a little. “The Bar Mitzvah Boy.”

“You poor thing. Having to handle those arrangements, all alone.”

“It went all right. Eric was a big help.”

“I’m glad to hear that, honey.” Another tear, yet her face was calm, placid. There was a box of Kleenex on the nightstand. Robin pulled out several sheets and dabbed gently at her mother’s cheeks.

“Were there a lot of people at the funeral?” She said it so mildly, as though she were asking about a dinner party she’d missed. It must have been residual sedatives, Renee’s true self still struggling to the surface, the slow trickle of her memory returning.

Robin’s chest tightened. Mom. Poor Mom. “There was a big crowd,” she said. “He was very much loved.”

“That’s nice.”

“I’m so glad you’re with me now, Mom. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never be without me. I’ll do everything I can to make sure of that.” She closed her eyes, struggling between sleep and waking until finally, Robin thought of something she could talk to her about.

“Do you know who was at the funeral, Mom? CoCo.”

“Huh?”

“That girl who used to babysit me when I was eight? She’s . . . well she’s aged since then obviously. She said you two are friends. That you’ve kept in touch.”

“CoCo?”