Tilly stayed in the Lovelock hospital morgue for three days. Her body did. Then she was moved to a funeral home and burned into ash. A man named Bobby helped with logistics. He called himself a death services consultant and wore a blue tie covered with tiny white terriers. His shoes were gleaming as if they’d just been polished. He seemed like a man who was trying to piece his life together after a great fall. I imagined him waking up each morning. Little steps, he’d tell himself. Little steps toward happiness.

We got a plain jar in a plain box. There I was, staring at rows of painted urns and taking her home in a cardboard box. Bobby put his hand on my shoulder. He understood. “It doesn’t make sense to get one of the expensive ones if you’re scattering the cremains.”

Cremains. I couldn’t even say the word. Jokes had been made about it, probably, paper shields against the dumb brute wordlessness of grief.

“Just bring a scoop,” said Bobby. “Most people wouldn’t think to do that.”

The box was sized to hold a cake or pie. It was wrapped in newsprint with no news on it. I imagined an entire day of history erased, ink headlines dissolved off the page by rain or design: COLLEGE MASSACRE KILLS 33. JUSTICE BARRED FROM GUANTÁNAMO. The world was full of wrong things, but I could only feel this one.

We put the box in the car. I fastened one of the back seat belts and then tucked the box under the strap, snug, a tiny rectangular passenger. I like it shuddery. That way you can really feel the ride.

We brought the ashes into the house. It didn’t seem safe to leave them in the car. The sun felt bright enough to burn anything, even ash.

Winnie was sitting at the kitchen table, breastfeeding her baby. She’s upstairs, she’d said earlier, just like that, her voice not cold but curled into a tight space. I found the ugliness of her baby fascinating. All the soft features huddled in its face like they needed shelter.

“She doesn’t like new folks,” Winnie said. “She’ll probably start crying.” But the baby just kept quietly sucking on her mother’s body.

I glanced at the sink, full of dirty dishes. There was a window behind that showed an empty lot, riddled with weeds, and the asphalt curve of the freeway beyond. The whole room smelled like a very hot wave had come and scorched everything, soaked all the grime, left the world bruised and steaming in its wake.