"Your father’s dead,” Malone said. This was reported neither with relish nor with sympathy. In a way, Tester liked this best. No pretense of concern. Your father is dead. Outwardly Tester took the news with great calm. Inwardly he felt the sun close its distance from the earth; it came

"All through the summer that came after it, as I slid into grief’s silent central eye, falling asleep like a cat in sunny patches, on the corners of settees or curled on rugs, I dreamed that she wasn’t dead at all, and had only gone away without telling me; and

Late January, my mother died. This is one of the photographs I shared with her that month: "lovely," she said, and mentioned that I'd sent photographs of this street before, and that's true, because I have appreciated observing the way that strip of birch trees changes with the seasons. Small