The sound of the earth falling on the coffin was muffled, but each shot sounded like a blow to my chest.
I staggered, trying to keep my balance. If Linda’s hand hadn’t been tight and warm around me, I might have collapsed on the damp floor of the cemetery.
The priest’s voice mingled with the howling wind. People came and went, faces I hadn’t seen in years, hugs I barely noticed. All I saw was the coffin.
All I could think about was: Emily is in there.
My little girl. She’s eighteen. Only eighteen.
He had plans. The university brochures were always on his desk, with sharp corners, notes in the margins. The picture of pros and cons had brightened a little on his laptop screen the day before he disappeared.
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