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Constance Mays. I facilitate.” Courtney knew from the information Peter had given her that the job of the facilitator was simply to get people talking and keep any one person from monopolizing the floor. Constance seemed to have more than enough energy to do so. She was a petite woman in her mid-sixties with salt-and-pepper hair that she wore short and wavy. Her soft eyes were brown and kind. Her handshake was warm and more comforting than firm.
    She guided Courtney into the room and introduced her to the others. Joanne was in her late sixties and looked very tired. Lisa was around Courtney’s age, which surprised her, and her smile was friendly. Dave was a big hulk of a man who sealed his fate with Courtney when he scanned her up and down and smirked. She put him in his late fifties and then tried hard not to look at him again.
    “We’re just waiting for a couple more members who said they were coming,” Constance informed her as she pulled some plastic chairs from the stacks against the wall. “Is this your first group like this?”
    Courtney sat in the empty orange chair next to Lisa, and Dave sat directly across from them in the circle. “Um…well, I tried to attend a bereavement group a year or two ago, but…it wasn’t for me.”
    Lisa smiled knowingly. “Me, neither,” she whispered so only Courtney could hear.
    “And how long have you been widowed?” Constance asked, completing her arrangement of the circle.
    “Three years in January.” She knew she should elaborate, would have to eventually, but couldn’t manage to out herself within five minutes of meeting these people. And she was annoyed at her inability.
    Before Constance could inquire further, three more people entered the room in fairly quick succession. A man with snowy white hair and the same tired look on his face that Joanne displayed, a woman in her seventies with the gentlest face Courtney had ever seen, and another man in his late fifties or early sixties with light, thinning hair and pale blue eyes.
    Looking around the room, Courtney leaned toward Lisa and whispered, “Are we too young to be here?”
    Lisa’s shoulders moved in a silent giggle and she pushed her blond hair back from her face. “You have no idea how relieved I was when you walked in,” she whispered back.
    “Richard, Edith, and Ted,” Constance said, stretching her arm in Courtney’s direction. “This is Courtney. She’s going to be joining us tonight.”
    They nodded in her direction, but said nothing. Edith smiled at her, as did Ted. Richard found a chair and lowered himself into it carefully.
    Once they were all seated in the circle, Constance folded her hands together on her knees and looked at each of them with a gentle expression. “So,” she said. “How is everybody doing?” Her attention stopped on each person for a few seconds. Courtney squirmed when it was her turn. Moving past her, Constance said, “Lisa? How was the date?”
    Lisa shifted in her seat and looked down at her hands. They were nice hands, Courtney noticed. Pretty. Nicely taken care of, but not overly fancy. Clear polish. Smooth, unblemished skin. She wore a single solitary diamond on her right hand. Her left was bare. “It was nice.”
    “But…” Constance prodded, voicing the unspoken but very loud word that was hanging in the air.
    Lisa blew out a breath. Her gaze strayed to Constance, then to Courtney, then back down to her hands. “But I kept comparing him to Stephen. I tried not to. I swear I did. But I just kept thinking, ‘his hair is so different, his hands are too small, he’s not listening to me, I don’t think he gets me like Stephen did.’ It really was unfair to the poor guy.”
    Courtney was unconsciously nodding in agreement. Lisa’s description sounded just like every one of the dates she’d had since Theresa had died. It was unfair to her dates. And beyond frustrating for her.
    “Try multiplying that feeling by ten or fifteen,” Joanne said into the