lot, my black dress damp from rain and my hands trembling so badly I could barely grip the phone.
“Dad,” I whispered, “please. I can’t do this alone.”
Music played behind him, mixed with laughter and clinking glasses.
He sighed as though I’d interrupted something unimportant. “Today is your sister’s birthday, Claire. We can’t come.”
For three seconds, I couldn’t breathe.
“My husband is dead,” I said. “Eli and Rose are dead.”
“I know,” he replied calmly. “And that’s terrible. But your sister only turns twenty-nine once.”
Then Mother took
