The color.
The little fabric-covered buttons.
A tiny snag near the waist.
I knew that dress.
But grief had turned my thoughts into loose papers blowing around a room. Every time I almost caught the memory, it slipped away.
Afterward, people surrounded me.
“I’m so sorry, Tisha.”
“Richard was a good man.”
“Please call if you need anything.”
I thanked everyone.
Found somebody’s missing coat.
Told the caterer where to put the coffee.
Carried a vase toward the reception room.
“Tisha?”
I turned.
Richard’s sister was holding an empty box.
“Where should these sympathy cards go?”
“On the table beside the guest book. No, wait, people will spill coffee there. Give them to me.”
I reached for the box.
“Mom.”
Daniel stood behind her.
“Give me five minutes, Danny.”
His face went blank, like a shutter closing.
“What?”
“I need to finish this.”
He stared at the box in my arms.
