The pastor had said kind things, though Robert had never been much of a church man.
The neighbors had come anyway.
They brought Costco trays, foil pans of baked pasta, plastic containers of cookies, paper plates, coffee, and all the soft, awkward sentences people offer when death is sitting in the room and nobody wants to look directly at it.
At the house, the kitchen smelled like deli chicken, lemon dish soap, and the coffee Margaret kept making because stopping made her hands shake.
People drifted from the living room
