From here, the clean sheets look prim and impersonal. Like a big sign saying Empty or Gone. Becky sticks her head in the door.
"They're starting to arrive. You need to come down."
It's true I haven't been much help. I've been hiding in here while Becky's scrubbed and dusted and vacuumed, getting the house ready for the gathering after the service.
This has happened too quickly. Mother slipped away the first night home. Then finding the plans she'd written down and setting all of that in motion and talking about the service and the service on this oddly sunny day. The words Reverend Bigelow said still float in the air in front of me.
I walk downstairs to greet this new life.
The living room is full of dahlias and gladiolas, chrysanthemums in a tasteful palette. Mom didn't want flowers, but we were slow getting the word out. It's too much, and it's what we can do.