Amid the babble of music and conversation that followed the memorial, Natalie was swept up in a wave along with everyone else. At the catered reception, she was buoyed by the energy of the mourners. She rode that wave, even though she knew that its power came from the deepest sadness. She let it catch her, pulling her along like a leaf dropped into a swift river current.

At the end of the day, the energy dwindled. People promised to stay in touch—a promise she doubted. They urged her to reach out if she needed anything—anything at all. Everyone went back to their own lives, their work and their worries, their families and friends. When they walked into their homes or offices or boarded a plane or train, they returned to the same world they had left.

For Natalie, this was not the case. For her, nothing would ever be the same. She now knew that the aftermath of acute and sudden grief was different, a horrible realm she’d never explored, like an unread book on the shelf. When she stepped into the shop that evening, she felt an emptiness so vast that she almost couldn’t breathe. Everything had drained out of her.

“It’s exhausting, isn’t it?” asked Grandy. “A sadness like this. It’s physically exhausting.”

“You’re right,” she said, watching him through the dim security lights of the shop. “Let’s both turn in early.”

As he made his way down the hall, he seemed diminished. They had not yet talked about what would happen now that Blythe was gone. Natalie knew it was going to be a difficult, painful conversation about decisions they weren’t ready to make.

After a few minutes, she tapped at his door and stepped into the room. He was in his flannel pajamas with the piped edges and a pair of old leather scuffs. There were pills and a glass of water on the nightstand along with a stack of books. In the corner, the old iron radiator served as a shelf for the collection of literature and keepsakes from the ceremony.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

He sat on the bed. “No, thank you.”

She wished there were something she could say to comfort him, but she couldn’t think of a single thing. “I’ll be upstairs,” she said. “Holler if you need anything at all.”

Leaning down, she kissed him on the forehead, then lingered in the doorway as he sat motionless for a moment. Then he cupped his face in his hands and his shoulders shook. She had an urge to go to him, but there was something private and unreachable about him. A moment later, he carefully took out his hearing aids and set them in a box on the nightstand.