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morning.”
    “You mean, after Mass.”
    “I’m taking the test in the morning.”
    “JJ, it’s Palm Sunday tomorrow.”
    “So?”
    “It’s a holy day.”
    “Went to church today, don’t want to go tomorrow, and technically it’s not a holy day, but the start to the Holy Week.”
    Meg stared at him for a long moment, flattened. She was too tired to do this. Too tired to do anything but go to bed. Sleep. “Fine. Stay home, and take the test. You just better ace the SAT.”
    He grinned a lopsided grin. “I’ll do my best.”
    “Night, JJ.”
    “Night, Mom.”
    In her bedroom, Meg discovered that the lights had been dimmed and Jack was already in bed, on his side, his back to her.
    She gently closed the door, retreating to the master bath to wash her face and brush her teeth. She performed her nightly routine swiftly without looking at herself. She was too tired to look at herself, not interested in seeing her face, not wanting to see her fatigue, or her sadness.
    Impossible to believe Mom was gone. Mom couldn’t be gone. There was still so much life ahead. Still so much time. Baseball games and ballet recitals and high school graduation and weddings . . .
    Her girls would one day walk down the aisle and her mom wouldn’t be there to see it. Her mom wouldn’t be there for any of it.
    Meg cried, bent over the bathroom sink, splashing water on her face. Tired. She was just so tired. And sad. But that was natural. This was all natural. Part of life. Birth and death and change. She didn’t have to like it, just accept it. And adapt.
    In bed, she quietly slid into her spot, carefully fluffing and adjusting her pillows as she eased under the duvet. The sheets were cool and smooth, the softest, lightest cotton. Her favorite indulgence. She didn’t care about expensive clothes or jewelry or cars, but she loved quality sheets. Good sheets made a great bed.
    “You were gone awhile,” Jack said, breaking the silence. His voice was clear, firm. He hadn’t been asleep.
    “Talked a long time to Sarah, then to JJ,” Meg answered, rolling over to look at him. His eyes were open, his gaze fixed on her.
    “Everything okay?”
    “Sarah’s a wreck, and JJ just wanted to talk.”
    “What did he have to say?”
    Meg hesitated, studying Jack’s strong, patrician features and unsmiling mouth. He didn’t smile much anymore, and suddenly she wondered if he ever had. “He talked about Grandma and Grandpa, and how much Grandpa would miss Grandma. He said they were best friends. I agreed. And then he asked . . .” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to voice JJ’s question. “He asked . . . if we had ever been like that. Best friends. And I told him yes.”
    Jack didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change. But Meg felt that acidic knot return to her stomach, the one that seemed to live there all the time, making her reach for Tums and Rolaids several times a day.
    “What?” she prompted, trying to see into Jack’s brown eyes, trying to read what he was thinking.
    “A long time ago,” he said finally.
    She pressed the pillow closer to her cheek. Her face felt so hot, and yet on the inside she felt so cold. “Not that long ago.”
    “Seems like forever.”
    “We’ve had a hard year.”
    “It wasn’t good before that.”
    He was referring to her affair. Her affair, her fault, her responsibility. And it was no one’s fault but hers. She’d be doing penance forever, not because anyone asked it of her, but because she owed it. She’d messed up, badly; and nine months later, she still found it impossible to forgive herself. Maybe one day she could. Maybe when she and Jack were good again, solid again. She looked forward to the day. Prayed for the day. It was hard living with so much self-hatred. “It’ll get better.”
    “I’m not happy.”
    Meg exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry.”
    “Are we working?” he asked.
    “I’m not unhappy.”
    “But are you happy?”
    Her eyes stung and the