Rose believed in cats—in feeding them and cuddling them. She did not find cats a nuisance in the least. She found them soft, quiet, gentle, and for the most part accepting. She loved the feeling when a cat plopped in her lap. She often wondered how they could be so comforting without ever saying a word. How they could seem to listen, to understand. Her mom had bought a cat for her when she was quite little and Rose had named it a rather stupid name, Moon Glow. But hey, she was four. They had called her Moony. But Moony had died three years ago. It turned out she had feline epilepsy. Her seizures became worse and worse, and finally one day she staggered into the kitchen, started shaking violently, and keeled over, dead. Rose hadn’t been there to see it, but she dragged every single word of how it had happened from her mom. Then they collapsed on the couch in the den, her mom folding Rose in her arms, and they cried and cried.

Her mom had made a big deal out of Moon Glow’s funeral. She had invited Rose’s friends over and served lemonade and cupcakes. There were pictures of Moony on a table with a bouquet of flowers. They had buried her in the backyard with a stone marker that her mom had found someone to engrave. It read “Here lies our friend Moon Glow. Indeed a bright light in our lives. RIP.” Rose had actually made herself a mourning outfit. All black, of course, it was made from a slip of her mom’s and part of a witch costume she had worn the previous Halloween. All very drapey and topped off with a black straw hat she had found in a thrift shop with her mom, to which she had attached a black veil. She wore it for three days and then got tired of it. Her mom had taken a picture of her standing by Moony’s grave. She remembered her mom saying something about her looking like a teensy Jackie Kennedy at President Kennedy’s funeral.

Then, just three years later, all the lights in Rose’s life went out. And here she was at 4605 North Meridian Street in Indianapolis, Indiana.

There was no funeral for Rose’s mom, because there were no remains. There was a memorial service. She could not even remember what she wore to the service. Rose was barely conscious during it. She felt as if the minister was speaking about a stranger.

“Your grandmother is in the greenhouse,” Betty said. “Why don’t you go out and visit her? Or do you want to go to your room first and freshen up?”