Claire Pritchard-Hemphill wore her hair longer than most thirty-four-year-old mothers, the dark hair cascading down her shoulders. No mommy cut for this woman. She looked sure of herself, the type who could do the wife and mother thing and still put on a dark skirt and jacket and hold her own in a boardroom. The lips were thick and sensual, the eyes dark as her hair. She smiled slightly in the photograph, a private smile created as much with her eyes as her lips. EDUCATOR, DAUGHTER KILLED IN CAR WRECK, the caption beneath the photograph read.

Claire Pritchard-Hemphill, thirty-four, died Friday afternoon at Georgetown University Hospital. Ms. Pritchard-Hemphill taught political science at Northern Virginia Community College. A daughter, Miranda Kay Hemphill, nine, also died in the accident which occurred on the George Washington Parkway at 2:40 P.M. Friday. No other cars were involved. Police say a heavy rainstorm was a contributing factor. She was the wife of Washington Post journalist Allen Hemphill.

I entered Claire Pritchard-Hemphill’s name into the search engine and pulled up another obituary. Born in Landover, Maryland, BA and MA earned at the University of Maryland, both parents and a sister surviving her as well as a husband. A different picture headed this piece, a more informal one with Miranda, their faces pressed close together as they smiled at the camera. The child had her mother’s dark hair but her father’s features. She looked happy and confident. From the way she leaned into her mother you knew she was an affectionate child, a child who would crawl into bed with her parents on weekend mornings, a child who would give hugs and kisses before going to school. I wondered if Allen had taken this photograph, had been the person they smiled for.

I was staring at the picture when Daddy tapped on the door.

“I thought I heard you up and about,” he said.

He wore patched corduroy pants that sagged low on his bony hips and a V-neck T-shirt, white hairs tufting from his sunken chest. The doctor had told Ben that Daddy had lost fifty pounds.

“I got cereal in the pantry,” Daddy said. “That’s about all the breakfast I can eat anymore. If I’d of known you was coming I’d have bought some eggs and bacon.”

He stepped into the room and stood next to the bed.

“Cereal is fine,” I said, and exited the screen.

“You should have let me know you was coming, Maggie.”

“I didn’t know I was coming myself till the last minute,” I said, trying not to sound irritated, trying and failing. Here we go again, I thought, always able to find some way to rub each other wrong. “I’ve already made coffee,” I said, picking up my cup and stepping past him. “I’ll get you a cup.”