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toe-to-toe standoff.
    “I think you should wear the blue dress,” Octavia said.
    Maggie’s dark eyebrows were drawn together. “I want to wear my tutu.”
    “You can’t wear a tutu — it’s not appropriate.”
    “What’s ‘propreate’ mean?”
    Linda stepped in.
    Maggie lit up. “You look pretty, Mommy!”
    “Thank you, sweetie. I think Aunt Octavia is right — your blue dress would look nice today.”
    Maggie’s lip poked out. “But Daddy likes my tutu.”
    Linda bit down on the inside of her cheek. “You’re right. But I happen to know he likes your blue
    dress, too.”
    Maggie brightened. “I can wear them both!”
    “If that’s what you want,” Linda said, giving Octavia a pointed look. “Mommy’s going ahead to the
    funeral home. You and Jarrod are coming with Aunt Octavia and Uncle Richard, okay?”
    “I want to go with you,” Maggie whined.
    “Not this time,” Linda said, shushing her. “Be good for Mommy, and make sure Jarrod behaves, too.”
    Having tattletale power over her brother cheered her up. “Okay, Mommy.”
    She gave her daughter a kiss and a hug, then gave Octavia directions to the funeral parlor. “Did Richard
    come in?”
    “He’s still in the car taking phone calls.”
    Linda said goodbye and made her way toward the garage. Keep moving…keep moving and you don’t
    have to think too much . She stopped in the calamitous living room long enough to snag another box of
    Kleenex — she alone had made a good dent in the pile — gave Max a scratch, then exited to the garage,
    which was stacked so high with boxes of tile and two-by-fours, there was barely room for one vehicle. She
    climbed behind the wheel of the minivan cluttered with soccer equipment and turned over the engine.
    Sullivan’s leased car remained at the agency parking lot. Klo had confided they were so late on the
    payments, it would be better to just let it revert to the dealership.
    The investigative agency was just another huge knot she would have to unravel.
    But it would have to wait.
    She backed out of the garage and down the driveway. As Octavia had indicated, Richard sat next to the
    curb in his big, gleaming Mercedes with his phone stuck to his head. A folder lay open on the steering
    wheel. His attention was so rapt he didn’t notice her, and she decided not to disturb him. During the few
    times she’d spent in Richard’s company, he’d always been nice enough to her, but she’d found him to have
    a chilly disposition. Still, he accommodated her sister’s demands, which she knew were many, and the
    account the ten thousand dollar check was written on had his name on it, too, so….
    She drove straight to an ATM to deposit said check, on the one hand feeling shameful to be tending to
    such tedious matters on the way to her husband’s funeral, but on the other hand knowing her ability to
    write checks of her own today depended on it. When she pulled away, she conceded the relief of having
    money in the bank was immense. Octavia could be a witch, but she had to hand it to her sister for sizing up
    what she needed most at this moment.
    She called her cell service provider and used the remaining credit limit on one charge card to have her
    service reinstated — another big relief, especially when so many people were trying to reach her right now.
    Sure enough, within a few minutes, her phone started beeping like crazy with undelivered voice messages.
    At traffic lights she paged through and discarded most of them, saving a few to return later.
    We’re so sorry to hear about Sullivan .
    When her mind threatened to go to that place she couldn’t bear to be, she turned up a radio station until
    the music was too loud to think. It worked until she pulled into the parking lot of the funeral parlor to see
    the name “Smith” on the marquee of the wood-framed sign.
    Her husband was lying in there, his life over. There would be no more anniversaries, Christmases, or
    birthday parties. He wouldn’t