I rubbed the bare skin on my left ring finger where my gold band used to live before the funeral expenses took it. The skin there was still pale, a quiet circle of white against the winter chap of my hands.
“Molly’s dad bought her a tiara,” Katie said, her voice dropping into that quick, breathless rhythm she used when she was trying to sound like she didn’t care. “She told everyone at recess. She said her dad is taking her to the steakhouse first, and they’re getting the chocolate fondue.”
“That sounds very nice for Molly.”
“We don’t have to go,” Katie said, her eyes fixed on her spoon. “It’s fine. Really.”
She didn’t look up when I set the bowl down in front of her. The kitchen counter still had two tuna casseroles from the neighbors, their cellophane wrap dusty and crinkled at the edges because neither of us could bring ourselves to eat them.
