“He talked about Grandma and Grandpa, and how much Grandpa would miss Grandma. He said they were best friends. I agreed. And then he asked . . .” Her voice trailed off as she struggled to voice JJ’s question. “He asked . . . if we had ever been like that. Best friends. And I told him yes.”

Jack didn’t say anything. His expression didn’t change. But Meg felt that acidic knot return to her stomach, the one that seemed to live there all the time, making her reach for Tums and Rolaids several times a day.

“What?” she prompted, trying to see into Jack’s brown eyes, trying to read what he was thinking.

“A long time ago,” he said finally.

She pressed the pillow closer to her cheek. Her face felt so hot, and yet on the inside she felt so cold. “Not that long ago.”

“Seems like forever.”

“We’ve had a hard year.”

“It wasn’t good before that.”

He was referring to her affair. Her affair, her fault, her responsibility. And it was no one’s fault but hers. She’d be doing penance forever, not because anyone asked it of her, but because she owed it. She’d messed up, badly; and nine months later, she still found it impossible to forgive herself. Maybe one day she could. Maybe when she and Jack were good again, solid again. She looked forward to the day. Prayed for the day. It was hard living with so much self-hatred. “It’ll get better.”

“I’m not happy.”

Meg exhaled slowly. “I’m sorry.”

“Are we working?” he asked.

“I’m not unhappy.”

“But are you happy?”

Her eyes stung and the acid from her stomach seemed to be bubbling up her esophagus and into her throat. “This is a kind of tough time to be talking about happiness. Mom’s just died. The funeral was this morning. We had two hundred and fifty people over to the house—”

“But that’s the point. We’re all going to die. Death is inevitable. In fact, some would say we’re dying every day.”

“I disagree.