“Let me help.” Standing in front of him, she looped the tie in a Windsor knot, something Grandy himself had taught her to do years before. The tie was vintage Hermès, a brilliant silk print in a sundial pattern. It was probably something her mother had found in a resale shop with her unerring nose for high-end fashion at low-end prices.

“It’s me, Natalie,” she said, her throat raw from crying. “Natalie. Your granddaughter.” It felt strange and horrible to have to explain who she was to a man who used to know her better than she knew herself.

“Of course,” he said agreeably. “You look just like your mother, only sometimes I think you’re even more beautiful. And my lovely daughter would be the first to agree with me.”

“Today is her memorial,” she reminded him, finishing the tie with a gentle tug. The idea was still too enormous to grasp. She felt as if she were swimming through a fog of grief and guilt, just trying to stay afloat. If only she hadn’t assumed her stupid company party had warranted a visit from her mother. If only she had been honest with Rick instead of waiting for him to conclude that their relationship had run its course. Instead, she had orchestrated the demise of her mother and a good man in his prime.

“There’s a car waiting out front.”

“A car …?”

“The memorial,” she said again. “That’s why we’re all dressed up.”

He touched his necktie and gave her a blank look.

“Mom died, Grandy. I came as soon as I found out, and I’ve been here all week.” After learning the stunning news at Rick’s office, Natalie had jolted herself into a strange, mechanical fugue, getting into her car and driving straight down to the city to be with her grandfather. Though she scarcely remembered the drive, she kept reliving the moment she’d had to tell him. His face had lit up when she’d come through the door, and for a few precious seconds, she’d let him delight in a visit from his granddaughter.

Then she’d said the words that still didn’t seem real—Mom died in a plane crash.

Grandy had been uncomprehending, just as Natalie had been. Blythe couldn’t be gone. How could she be gone? How could she be stolen from the world, just like that?

It had taken several explanations before the understanding and deep horror penetrated his denial. A crack opened up—an earthquake. A great, unbreachable fissure. She could hear his poor heart shatter into pieces.

They had wept together, torn to bits by their shared grief. Days later, she still felt the aftershocks of the emotional devastation.