Appropriate music was softly playing and there were many visitors, most of whom she recognized. They seemed to be about equally divided into those who were glumly milling about by themselves and others who were congregating in mournful little groups. While making her way across the foyer and into the kitchen, Chelsea was compassionately greeted by many of them and she responded in kind. The kitchen was also busy and hugely overloaded with food. For some reason, casseroles seemed to be the most popular offerings. She sighed a bit as she stared at it all.

I’m sure that my mother and father appreciate all this, she thought. But I could never understand why people always bring so much food to those whose terrible grief has totally robbed them of their appetites . . .

On seeing that a makeshift bar had been set up on the kitchen island, she poured two fingers of single-malt scotch. She took an appreciative sip before walking on into the living room.

By almost any standard, the Enright living room was immense. Its greatest attributes were an emerald-green rug, dark colonial furniture, and a huge marble fireplace. After making the rounds of those who had congregated there, Chelsea stepped out onto the equally large sunporch that adjoined the living room’s far side. Here, she hoped to find some solitude.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked both the swimming pool and the tennis court, and beyond the sloping hill, there lay a wonderfully expansive view of Syracuse’s southeastern side. Taking refuge in one of the many overstuffed chairs, she swallowed another welcome sip of scotch. For a time, she wished that she could simply melt away into the chair cushions and become invisible to all who might wish to offer up yet more depressing condolences. She hadn’t seen her mother yet, but that would happen soon enough.

A few moments later, Lucy’s two shih tzus happily arrived and began nuzzling Chelsea in an urgent quest for food. Her mother had named them Rhett and Scarlett, and although they were not Chelsea’s type of dog, she liked them well enough.

When she reached down to pet Rhett, a familiar voice said, “God, how I dislike small dogs! I don’t know why your mother got them, but that’s Lucy for you. Give me a big old gundog every time. Speaking of which, how’s Dolly these days?”

Chelsea looked up to see her father, Adam, standing beside her chair. “She’s fine, Dad,” she answered.

Adam Enright bent down and kissed his daughter’s cheek. “And Syracuse’s most eligible bachelorette?” he asked. “How’s she doing?”

Chelsea rustled up a little smile. Seeing her father always brightened her mood, no matter the circumstances.

“When I meet her, I’ll ask,” she answered. “Have you been here long?”

Adam shook his head. “I just arrived.” He pulled a chair closer and sat down. “How are you holding up, kiddo?”

“I hate clichés, but I’m doing about as well as can be expected,” she answered.

“Yeah, me too,” Adam answered.

“And Mom?”Chelsea asked.

“She’s still devastated,” Adam answered. “But I always knew that would be the case. They were practically joined at the hip.”

Chelsea nodded. “Yes . . . ,” she said sadly.

Chelsea looked lovingly at her father. He was a tall, fit man in his early sixties with short gray hair, deep blue eyes, and a strong jaw. He had been her rock while she was growing up, and Chelsea thought he looked especially handsome today in a black polo shirt, gray slacks, and cordovan loafers.

Adam and Lucy had divorced while Chelsea was in college.