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breathing down her neck. She was glad she hadn’t known how close it was as they passed through the storm. The driver swung into the fast lane, flashed his lights, honked his horn and waved as he passed, letting her know that she had been the beacon for him.

Chapter Five
    T HE FUNERAL WAS HELD IN THE E PISCOPAL CHURCH Evan’s family had stopped attending years before. It was, in fact, the church in which Claire and Evan got married, a stone building with stainedglass windows that made no concessions to its desert location. To Claire it appeared to have been transported intact from the Midwest, as had many of its parishioners. The first time she saw this church, she had an image of it sprouting wings and flying to Tucson from a suburb on Chicago’s North Shore. Compulsive as she was about being on time, she somehow managed to arrive at the church ten minutes late. She had spent the night with her friend Madelyn and they had lingered over coffee. Some people might consider showing up late a lapse in character, but for Claire it was a small victory, late enough to allow her to take a seat in the rear of the church behind everyone else. There were more people than she would have expected at the funeral of an eighty-five-year-old woman, but Nana had remained active in the community and lived at home until the end. She had been married to Paul, Claire’s former father-in-law, for sixty years, and Claire knew he would not be taking this well.
    While the minister spoke to the accompaniment of organ music and sobs, Claire stared at the flower arrangements on the altar, wondering which one had come from her and the children, thinking that Nana had lived a life full of family and volunteerism. The service was mercifully short. The mourners stood up. The family began walking down the aisle. Evan came first with his father hanging on his arm. Paul had aged since Claire last saw him. His posture was stooped and he had a shuffling walk. Evan’s hair fell across his forehead in little-boy bangs. His face was swollen and his eyes were red. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him cry during all the years she’d been married to him. Melissa followed Evan and Paul with every blond hair in place and wearing a black dress that looked expensive. She had put on weight, about ten pounds in Claire’s judgment. Not enough to make her look frumpy, but enough to send the signal that she was no longer in the market. Was that a sign of contentment, Claire wondered, or unhappiness? Weight gain could be either. It was hard to judge at a funeral where one was expected to be unhappy.
    She followed the rest of the mourners out of the church and waited on line to offer condolences. She came to Paul first. Claire had never felt close to him; he was a man who stayed in the background and let his wife perform all the social functions. Yet he seemed pleased to see her.
    â€œClaire,” he said, taking her hand. “It’s so good of you to come. Nana was fond of you, and the children were always her pride and joy.”
    â€œShe was a wonderful grandmother to them,” Claire replied.
    Up close she could see that Evan had also aged. He still looked like a preppy, but his hair seemed thinner and grayer, and he had put on a few pounds, too, leading Claire to wonder if Melissa liked to cook. While Evan gave Claire a stiff hug, she glanced over his shoulder and saw his new wife standing farther down the sidewalk talking to people her own age.
    â€œThanks for coming,” Evan said. “I wish the children were here.”
    â€œI’m sorry, Evan,” Claire said, summoning as much warmth as she could. “I know how much your mother meant to you.”
    â€œWe’re inviting friends and family back to Dad and Mother’s house after. Could you come?”
    â€œI’ll try,” Claire said.
    â€œI hear you’re doing well at the center,” Evan said.
    â€œI like New Mexico,” she replied.