2

Loss

The sparkling clean window gave Sylvia Gilliver a view of the row of Black Haw viburnums that edged the immaculate property. Each creamy white blossom showcased its delicate green center at a perfect angle, creating the impression of a fence, a natural screen alongside the building to keep out pryingeyes.

The Styrofoam cup of coffee she held steamed. Behind her, Mr. Willingham cleared his throat.

“Well, that’s a problem, Miss Gilliver,” he said in a low voice, respectful from years of practice. “Perhaps your niece’s remains may never beidentified.”

“She was so small,” Sylvia said, still regarding the mocking May sunshine. “Barely three months old, butstill…”

“We have only two sets of remains at this time,” the Funeral Director continued. “We will of course include your niece’s memorial along with your sister’s and nephew’s, if that’s what youwant.”

Sylvia faced Mr. Willingham. “No,” she said. “I mean, yes.” She sank onto a brown leather armchair across from a massive mahogany desk. “Mr. Willingham, I think there should be some remembrance of or for her, but without any evidence of her death, she might be alive, somewhere.” Sylvia swallowed a sob.

“Take your time, Miss Gilliver,” he said. “The service will be in three days, as we’ve discussed, and if you want to include your niece, we’ll make sure she gets a propermemorial.”

She looked up into the kind concern of his eyes. “Grace,” Sylvia said. “Her name is, was,Grace.”

They stood and together walked acr