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Do you think you’ll be okay until then?”
    I just look at her. Doesn’t she get it? I will never be okay again... ever.
    “ Or I can arrange for someone to come over and stay with you until then. We have volunteers who are happy to step in and help.”
    I turn away from this woman with weird hair. I want her to leave. I don’t want her strangers coming into my house.
    “I know this is very hard for you, Cleo. And I really don’t want to leave you alone like this. Are you sure you don’t want to come to the—”
    “I don’t want to go anywhere,” I say for what feels like the tenth time. “I want to stay here. And I’m not a child. I do not need a babysitter.”
    “No, I’m sure you don’t. But you are very upset. And it’s understandable. I really hate to leave you alone like this.”
    “Please, go.” I try to force some life back into my voice. “Really, I will be okay. I just need to deal with this in my own way. Please?
    “ Well...” She stands and shakes her head. “You do have my card. I hope you will call me if you need anything. If not today, perhaps tomorrow or next week.”
    “Yes.” I stand too. “I’ll do that.”
    She looks at me as if she knows I’m lying. But then she picks up her purse or briefcase or whatever it is and leaves. And now I am alone. Really alone.
    She’s barely driven away when the phone rings again. It’s been ringing like this about every five minutes. And instead of picking it up, I just let it go to the answering machine. This time it’s Dad’s golfing friend.
    “Hugh, this is Glen. I just heard something terrible on the news. Was it really true? Is that Karen Neilson your wife? I sure hope not. But call me, man, tell me what’s up. And remember I’m here for you, buddy.”
    I turn the volume way down on the answering machine, then head for my room, which still looks trashed from last night—dried-up salsa, tortilla crumbs on the rug, soda cans, unmade beds. But I turn off the light, close the drapes, step over the trundle, climb into bed, pull up the covers, and take in a jagged breath. My head is still throbbing, pulsating behind my eyes, ringing in my ears. I close my eyes and begin counting backward from a thousand.
    When I wake up, it’s to the sound of my cell phone ringing, and for a moment I forget... and then I imagine I’ve been having a bad dream. But then I answer my phone, and I can hear it in my dad’s voice. This is real.
    “Are you okay?” he asks with so much concern that I know I’m going to start crying again.
    “I... I don’t know.”
    “I’m in shock too, Cleo. But I’m about to board the plane. I just wanted you to know.”
    “Yeah...”
    “I have a connection in Chicago with a three-hour layover. I’ll get it changed if I can. Otherwise it’ll be after eleven by the time I get to the airport. And I’ll just get a taxi to bring me home.”
    “I could pick you up.”
    “No, I don’t want you driving into the city at that hour. Not after what... well, you know.” “Yeah. Okay.”
    “I wish I was there for you, Cleo. I just can’t believe this...
    It feels like a nightmare.” “I know. I keep wishing I’d wake up.”
    “I love you, honey.”
    “I love you too, Daddy.”
    “Hang in there.”
    “You—you too.” My voice cracks. “I’m coming home.”
    “I know.” Then we both say I love you again and hang up. I’ve never been really close to my dad. I know he loves me—and I love him—but he’s always traveled so much with his work, and Mom was always the one there for me. I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone and trying to make sense of this madness, lining up the facts as if they are numbers. Numbers that should all add up.
    My mother is dead.
    She was murdered by strangulation.
    Her body was spotted early this morning by a jogger who immediately called 911.
    Several hours later, detectives found her purse, minus credit cards and cash, in the bushes nearby.
    Her car, now reported stolen,