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.

“Christ, Karen!” Mr. Bricket looked at two police officers—his former coworkers—walking toward him. “No, please don’t come over here. I’ll leave. I got it. Thank you.” He buried his head into his neck and started walking out.