It was not going to go away. Not completely. Had her mother ever stopped grieving Chiyo’s father, even though he’d died decades earlier? Maybe there was some tucking-away place where grief was stored. A tucking-away place that permitted you to carry on, pull yourself up and out of that river or stream. She and her mother had never talked about anything like that.

Look at what had happened early this morning. She got up as usual, stepped into the shower and began to shampoo her hair. She was thinking of nothing in particular when a wave of sadness rolled through her and she found herself crying hard. The floodgates were open and everything was spilling out. Good thing she was by herself in the house. But even as she cried, some part of her knew that almost eight months after her mother had died, she was treading the same waters. She’d lost some part of herself, and there was no one to blame. Like some of Pina’s dancers, she was out of balance. But unlike the dancers, Chiyo was determined to get back up.

WHEN ALL THE MUSIC was chosen to her satisfaction, she checked the time and decided to walk to the Anglican church she used to attend with her mother. One day a week, a noonday service was held, and this was the day. She checked the website to be certain. She didn’t go to church regularly and hadn’t been inside since the Anglican minister had conducted the service for her mother’s funeral. There’d been a small group of people: her mom’s friends, her own friends. Maybe thirty in all.

As had happened with every other church in Wilna Creek, the congregation of Anglicans had shrunk over the past decades. Chiyo wondered if anyone even bothered to attend church in the middle of the week. She supposed the midday service was timed for workers who were on their lunch break and wanted comfort or reassurance for whatever was going on in their lives. Or maybe they were just seeking the communion of fellow worshippers.

She pushed back the heavy door and entered as the organ was starting up. The minister was at the front, and he recognized her and smiled. He motioned toward the two front pews, where five people had stood to sing, but Chiyo held out a hand as if to ward him off and slid into a pew the second row from the back. Just in case she needed to bolt. All the pews between were empty.

She unbuttoned her coat and dropped it to the pew and set her purse beside her and pulled out the Book of Common Prayer she’d brought from home. This had belonged to her mother and to her mother’s mother in the camps; it was old and small, the cover softened from use. Chiyo found the correct page and joined in for the opening hymn and prayers. She heard the minister say something like “heads are bowed with . . .” She thought he said “woe,” and maybe he did. But no, that couldn’t be. At the same moment, she heard a rustling noise behind her and glimpsed back quickly to see a woman about her own age in the pew behind. The woman had entered the church soundlessly and had taken Chiyo by surprise. A long arm was reaching over the back of the pew just as Chiyo turned. A hand had almost grabbed her wallet from her purse.