No one said I was family.
No one said I could stay as long as I liked.
I sat there for nearly an hour, and eventually my thoughts went where they always went when life became too heavy to hold in the present.
They went back to Harold.
My husband had been dead for just over two years.
Forty-six years of marriage, and then one Tuesday afternoon in Tucson he was simply gone.
He had been sitting in his chair with a crossword on his lap while I cut lemons in the kitchen for iced tea.
When I came back into the room, I knew before I reached him that whatever had made our house feel inhabited had already left.
After the funeral, Daniel stood in my yellow kitchen and told me I couldn’t stay in Tucson alone.
He said itkindly.
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