And I hated them for that too.
When the service ended, I drove home exhausted and numb. But as I pulled into the driveway, I froze.
The front door stood open.
The porch light glowed.
The living room lamp was on.
I knew I had turned everything off before leaving.
I stepped inside and found all four of Angie’s friends standing awkwardly among the funeral flowers, framed photographs, and untouched casseroles.
“What are you doing here?” I shouted.
A dark-haired boy stepped forward nervously.
“It’s not what you think, Miss Mabel.”
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