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acid from her stomach seemed to be bubbling up her esophagus and into her throat. “This is a kind of tough time to be talking about happiness. Mom’s just died. The funeral was this morning. We had two hundred and fifty people over to the house—”
    “But that’s the point. We’re all going to die. Death is inevitable. In fact, some would say we’re dying every day.”
    “I disagree. As long as you’re alive, you’re alive. When you’re dead, you’re gone—”
    “Unless you’re not really alive. Unless you’re just going through the motions.” Jack’s mouth flattened, and a small muscle pulled and popped in his jaw. “Like we are.”
    You mean, like you are,
Meg silently corrected, closing her eyes, shoulders rising up toward her ears.
    “This isn’t working with us, Meg.”
    She didn’t want to hear this, not now, not today. She was too sad. Things had been too hard. “We’re tired, Jack, worn out—”
    “I leave tomorrow for D.C., and I think we need to really think about the future and what we want. We’re not getting any younger. We deserve to be happy. You deserve to be happy—”
    “I’m not unhappy, Jack!” she cried, sitting up, knocking away a tear before it could fall. “I’m just tired. It’s been a rough couple of weeks, and a very long day, and I will not lose you now, not after everything we’ve been through. We’re good together. We have the kids. We have a history. We have a future.”
    “But maybe it’s not the one I want,” he answered quietly, his voice cutting through the dark room, and her heart.
    Meg’s lips parted but no sound came out. She balled her hands into fists and pressed them against her thighs. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Things would work out. They always worked out. She just had to be strong. “Have faith, Jack! We
will
get through this.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Jack.”
    “I’m not trying to be mean, Meg. I’m just being honest.”
    Palm Sunday.
    A beautiful Palm Sunday, too. Cloudless blue sky. No breeze. Seventy-two degrees. How could it be better than that?
    Thirty-four-year-old Lauren Summers laughed softly, a low, rough laugh. Pure irony.
    At least she’d made it here. That was something. It’d been months and months since she’d come. But today . . . today she’d made the drive to the Napa cemetery from Alameda. No traffic. Ninety minutes.
Easy.
    More irony.
    God, she was funny. Full of gallows humor. And why not? If you couldn’t laugh at yourself, what was left? Nothing. And nothing begets nothing . . . leaving one with . . . nothing.
    Lauren ran her hands up and down and all around the steering wheel. Her stomach cramping, hurting, already wishing she hadn’t agreed to meet her parents here today.
    She should have just met them in town for brunch. Gone somewhere public, somewhere loud, somewhere with lots of distractions. She still needed the distractions.
    The air caught in her throat. Her eyes burned.
    She missed him. Missed him so much. People said it’d get easier. People said it was just a matter of time.
    Squeezing the steering wheel tightly, Lauren clamped her jaw, teeth grinding. She wasn’t going to lose it today. Wasn’t going to cry.
    Blake had hated it when she cried. She remembered how as a little boy he’d put his fingers into the corners of her mouth and lift her lips.
Smile, Mom
.
    The lump in her throat grew, filling her chest. She swallowed, hard. She wouldn’t crack. Today she was going to be strong. Today she was going to get out of her car, and walk across the expanse of grass to his grave and . . .
    And then what?
    Lauren frowned. What would she do once she reached his grave?
    Her phone rang, breaking her concentration. Reaching for her phone, she saw it was her mom, Candy Summer. The family ranch was a fifteen-minute drive from the cemetery. Her parents were supposed to meet her here. They were all going to do this together. Visit Blake. Bring him flowers. Her mother had the