Maybe that was my problem all along, and Alice’s, too. We were waiting for Prince Charming and that magic kiss.

We were waiting—are waiting—for forgiveness.

MINNA

Minna saw Danny slip into the living room just after her mom started speaking her dad’s eulogy. At first she thought he’d come to show support, to listen to her apologize; but then she saw he was in uniform and was accompanied by another cop in uniform. She tried to gesture to him several times—which was hard, because she was sitting in the front row and was supposed to be paying attention—but he kept his eyes glued to her mother.

Where the hell was Trenton? She didn’t see him anywhere.

“You can never really know anyone else,” her mother was saying, and Minna turned around, guilty, feeling as though her mom was speaking a private message to her. And Caroline was looking at her. This wasn’t part of the speech, Minna knew, at least it wasn’t part of the speech her mom had rehearsed with her earlier, while they were stashing the roll-away beds, carefully avoiding discussing what they had said to each other last night, how they had slept side by side, as if Minna was still a little kid.

“I was married to Richard for almost twenty-two years, and in some ways he was still a stranger to me,” Caroline said. It was very quiet in the room. Someone coughed. Minna was embarrassed by her mom’s eye contact, and the pleading look of her expression. She wanted to look away but couldn’t. “But I know certain things for a fact. Richard enjoyed life, truly enjoyed it, in a way very few people do. Sometimes he enjoyed it a little too much.” Several people laughed. “One time, he decided we should all go camping as a family. He spent weeks researching the best tents, the best fishing poles, the best places to pick berries in the summertime. He wanted to do it. He didn’t want to bring even a can of beans. Well, that lasted about half an hour. We spent the night in a Regency near Lake George, after I got eaten alive by mosquitoes, Minna picked a handful of poison ivy, and everyone got hungry.”

Now everyone laughed. Minna felt a sudden gripping terror: she had forgotten about the camping trip, but now she remembered her father suited up in a broad hat decorated with feathers and ornaments, wading into a flat river the color of sky, calling for her to come swim. She remembered, too, how he had taken her arm, bloated with poison ivy, onto his lap, squinting with concentration as he applied calamine lotion.

What else had she forgotten about her dad? How many other moments had she let slip? She knew he had loved life, almost to the point of poor taste. That was the problem, in some ways. The rest of them had been like passing shadows on the brilliant high-noon photograph of his life; she had felt like a shadow next to him.

For the first time it occurred to her that maybe, maybe, it wasn’t entirely his fault.

“Death makes it easy to forgive,” Caroline was saying. She looked down and shuffled the notes in her hand, even though Minna knew she wasn’t reading from them. When Caroline looked up again, she had the same pleading expression in her eyes. “We all do our best,” she said, speaking very deliberately. Then she broke eye contact, finally, and looked out over the rest of the crowd. Minna wondered whether her mom was sober. It was hard to tell. She didn’t usually speak so truthfully, even—or especially—when she was drunk. “I loved Richard very much, even after all this time. We stayed very close.” Her voice broke slightly and Minna gripped the sides of her chair, to keep from feeling like she might be bucked off. “I forgive him for everything. I forgive him for dying, too, although I’ll miss him very much. There were things I still wanted to say. But there always are.”

It took the audience several moments to work out that Caroline’s speech was over; it was a strange, abrupt ending, and it wasn’t until Caroline had sat down heavily in the seat next to Minna’s that the tension, the silence of waiting, broke. If this had been a play, the audience would have applauded. But it wasn’t a play, and instead there was just the sound of shuffling and chairs creaking and mints being unwrapped, as Minna’s cousin, Greg, came silently up the aisle and took his place behind the microphone.

“How was I?” Caroline leaned in to whisper to Minna. She reeked of vodka. Not sober, then, not that it mattered. Minna reached out and squeezed her hand. She was worried if she tried to talk, she would cry again.

It was over soon, thank God. Greg spoke, and so did his father, Richard’s sister’s husband, since Richard’s sister had spent half of her adult life feuding with Richard and had even refused to come to the memorial service. Richard’s longtime business partner spoke, and Minna focused on the fact that he looked pretty good, better than she remembered, but before she could wonder whether he was still married and whether it would matter, he was finished talking and the service, at least the formal portion of it, was over. Then she was crowded from all sides. People slipped hands over hers—smooth hands, rough hands, hands as old and thin as parchment, and whispered, “I’m so sorry,” and exhaled the smell of breath mints and alcohol.

She spotted Danny moving toward her, politely but forcefully, pushing through the crowd. He still wasn’t looking at her, though. Before she could call his name—before she could say anything—he had moved past her without even a glance and had stopped in front of her mother.

“Mrs. Walker, is there somewhere we could go and have a talk?” he said, in a voice very different from his usual one. At the same time, Minna realized that the second cop was standing just behind Danny, thumbs hooked into his belt, shifting his weight. He had acne scars and a fat cold sore on his lower lip and looked like a bad actor doing a tough cop routine.

“I told you,” Caroline said. “I go by my maiden name.”

“What’s this about?” Minna stepped next to her mother, forcing Danny to look at her. He did, but only for an instant.

“I’m sorry we have to do this now,” he said. And he did sound sorry. “If there’s somewhere more private . . . ?”

“What’s this about?” Minna repeated, so loudly that several people looked. She lowered her voice. “Danny?”

Danny sucked in a deep breath. “This really isn’t the place.”

“This really isn’t the time,” Minna said, getting angry. “We’re having a memorial service, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

At least the room was emptier now. The crowd was flowing out toward the dining room, to refill on drinks and make inane comments about the circle of life.