“We should sit,” Ruby said, daring to wave at the older kids. She led us over to a table near the DJ, where sound swallowed all possibility of conversation. A brilliant move on her part. It was a silent crusade we’d embarked upon. Discussion would only shatter the illusion that we’d meant it to be this way all along.

Nick tried to loosen his grip on my palm. I squeezed tighter.

The lights in the tent flickered.

Almost show time.

It’s hard to say what purpose Marley’s memorial served outside of fund-raising for Cadence’s police department. Certainly not that of healing for those most affected by her death. Once a year, Officer Bricket, who had retired, had to get out the shaving razor and make himself presentable enough to walk up on stage and deal with the fact that he was out of town when his daughter was killed with his gun. Ms. DeVeau, formerly Mrs. Bricket, had to make a production out of finding a seat as far from her ex-husband as possible. If ever the two came close to one another, someone swooped in and redistributed the crowd.

The lighting changed under the tent once more, casting the audience into darkness. A spotlight shone on Mayor Bayor walking out onto the makeshift stage. After introducing himself, he held for an abnormal amount of applause. No one found his presence to be the gift he thought it was, or his name as clever, but if ever the response came close enough to satiating him, it was year five. Hands slapped together with the fury of flags caught in a windstorm. Fix this, Mayor Bayor. Don’t let our Olivia be ruined by Marley’s murderer. Accidental murderer. But you know what we mean!

He began his recycled opening statements. “Let us remember our beloved Marley Bricket. The picture of youth lost. A heavenly reminder of all that needs to be made better about the world.”

Everything but a person.

I slinked my way up the edge of the tented room and over to the side of the stage. Right beside me, Marley’s mom shoved her chair so hard, it flew into the parking lot. “Don’t touch me!” she screamed.

“Karen, I’m not. I’m just…” Mr. Bricket said. He tried to hush himself. He thought there was still a way to placate his ex-wife. “Come on now, give me a second here.” Because of Nick and me, the watchful eyes had drifted too far from the exes, who, much like unattended children, went straight to the very thing they knew they shouldn’t.

“Karen, please,” Mr. Bricket pleaded. He made the mistake of taking a step closer to her.

Ms. DeVeau grabbed her discarded chair. She threw it back toward Mr. Bricket. “I don’t know what the protocol is here, but this man needs to be taken away!” she yelled.

Out of misguided respect, the news cameras trained themselves on the ground. No one in Cadence wanted to remember what Marley’s death actually did to the living.