The funeral takes place four days later in a historic cathedral in Boston. It’s a private affair, with only me and Mom and Christopher and a handful of very close business partners. One of them gives Mom a look of undisguised hunger and makes her promise to let him know if she needs anything. Another one of them gives the same look and extracts the same promise from me.
I walk through the whole thing in a daze. Vaguely I’m aware that I’ve taken a leave of absence from school, that I should be dealing with grief. And maybe I could, if I could bring myself to really believe that it happened. Mostly I keep waiting to wake up.
Keep waiting for a hand to reach into the water and pull me out.
Christopher doesn’t approach me at the funeral.
He doesn’t write any more letters.
It’s like a seco
