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paper.” Stephanie nodded. Her children were waiting when they got home, and Jean went back to Hillsborough, promising to return the next day.
    The four of them had dinner in the kitchen that night, and sat for hours afterward talking about their father, as Stephanie listened to them tell stories of what a hero he had been, and what a great father to them. There was a disconnect somewhere, she knew, but she couldn’t locate it just yet and didn’t want to. They sat there late into the night, alternately crying and singing his praises, and then finally everyone went to bed. Stephanie had never been so exhausted in her life. Half the time she was in searing emotional pain and the other half she was numb.
    The next day was more of the same, with more details to take care of. Everyone at Bill’s office was shocked, and all of his partners called Stephanie. Jean went shopping and arrived with dresses for them to wear to the funeral, and miraculously everything fit. None of them had had properly serious black dresses to wear for a funeral, as the bereaved family of the deceased.
    The day of the funeral dawned gray and rainy. Jean had called a caterer to be there when people came to the house after the service. And three hundred people trouped through their house, as Stephanie stood pale and brave and her children cried all day.
    She was finally alone with Jean for a few minutes after everyone left, and she stared at her friend in shocked disbelief.
    “Everybody loved him so much. They all have stories about what a great guy he was. I never knew he had that many friends.” Stephanie looked confused as she lay on her bed, and Jean sat down in a chair across the room.
    “People always become saints after they’re gone. No one remembers the bad things they did. And to his friends, Bill was a good guy, even if he wasn’t great to you. No one’s going to remember that now, or say it to you. Least of all your kids.” She had heard them talking all afternoon about what a wonderful father he’d been, and Michael had given a eulogy in glowing praise of his father.
    “He never did anything for the kids,” Stephanie said softly, as though she were afraid someone would hear her. “I had to push him into everything he did.”
    “I know. You always made him look like a hero. That’s all they want to remember now.” Stephanie fell silent as she thought about it, wondering if she was confused too. Maybe he had been a better husband than she thought. What was true—what people were saying about him now, or the distance and disconnect they had lived with for years after he cheated on her? “Don’t try to figure it out. It doesn’t matter right now. Just get through this. How long are the kids staying?”
    “Louise has to be back at work by the end of the week, and Michael has a big meeting in Atlanta on Friday. Charlotte has exams this week, she’s leaving tomorrow night.” Jean realized from what she said that Stephanie would be alone by the weekend, in the deafening silence of her empty house. She hated to think of her alone.
    “It would be nice if they could stay at least till Sunday,” Jean said, looking pensive. But sooner or later, Stephanie would have to face the fact that she was alone now. Bill had died just at the point in life where kids are gone, and you want to count on your husband being there while you got old. Instead, Stephanie was a widow at forty-eight, with kids who were grown and gone and lived in other cities. And Jean knew that however lacking Bill had been, or inadequate their relationship in recent years, it was going to be very, very tough on her.
    She left a little while later, and Stephanie spent the evening with her children. They all agreed that the funeral had been beautiful, although to Stephanie it seemed like a blur. She couldn’t even remember who was there.
    After spending the day together, Charlotte left for Rome the following afternoon, Louise the next day, and Michael on the red-eye to