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tiny heart, beating down the hall, and his own heart, broken.
    “The funeral is the day after tomorrow. It’s the only day we could get the church, with the holidays. I know it’s rushed, but we had no choice.”
    Mike felt a flicker of clarity. “Bob, I want to go home. ”

 
    Chapter Six
    Mike felt stricken when he spotted his house toward the end of the quiet, snowy street. He’d dreamed of coming home to Chloe and the baby, but he never imagined the scenario without her. No soldier dreams of coming home to an empty house, and even the sight of the house, white clapboard colonial, reminded him of Chloe. She was the one who’d found it online, obsessively checking the MLS, getting the jump on the Realtors and falling in love with its thumbnail photo. She knew it would be perfect for them, and she had been right. He remembered the day they’d taken possession and celebrated by making love in the empty living room.
    On the floor? Chloe had asked, laughing, but she was already pulling her shirt over her head.
    No, on the sales agreement. Did you see how many copies they made? That’s a mattress.
    Then you’re on the bottom! Chloe had unfastened her lacy bra and reached for him.
    Mike shook off the memory, approaching the house. Christmas lights lined the porch roof, wound around the downspout, and ran along the side to the kitchen, in back. Chloe must have strung them by herself, for a holiday she wouldn’t live to see.
    I am so sorry, honey.
    Mike reached the house, steered into his driveway, and pulled in behind her yellow VW Beetle, parked where it always was, since they kept his Grand Cherokee in the garage. His headlights blasted the vanity plate he’d bought her, which read RTEEST. Chloe had been confused by the plate, he remembered.
    Thanks, but what does it mean? Rit-est?
    No. Artiste. Isn’t that French for artist?
    Ha! You speak French now!
    No, I speak license plate.
    Chloe had laughed. She had a wonderful laugh, light and happy, and Mike loved to make her laugh. He was a quiet guy, but he tried to be funny for her. He cut the ignition, plunging RTEEST into shadow, then sat still a moment, trying to gather his composure before he went inside. His only shot was that he’d cried all his tears out, though he knew that wasn’t medically possible. He pressed down the emergency brake, yanked the key out of the ignition, and climbed from the car.
    The frozen air hit him in the face, and his breath turned to steam. He walked up the driveway to her Beetle, put his hand on the frigid handle, and pressed the button, which he knew would be unlocked. Chloe left everything unlocked, which drove him nuts, until now.
    Honey, you should lock up!
    In Wilberg? Are you kidding?
    Mike got inside the car, sat in the front seat, and closed the door behind him, without knowing why. Because it was hers. Because she sat here last. Because she loved this car. He didn’t readjust the seat, though his knees didn’t fit under the wheel. He sat in darkness, feeling the seat behind him, the shape of her body, fitting his. He closed his eyes. He could have been in bed, with her spooning him, behind. She liked that.
    Don’t get any ideas, she would joke. I’m just cuddling.
    Cuddling is permitted. No ideas at all.
    Mike opened his eyes. The dashboard was deep and black, and he glanced around to see how she’d left it. The console held a ChapStick, a ballpoint, half a pack of gum, loose change, and other junk. He dug in the console, spotted a silvery tube of lip gloss, and picked it up. She didn’t wear much makeup, but she was always reapplying this stuff.
    Why do you do that? he asked her, once.
    So I look kissable.
    You look kissable right now. Want me to prove it?
    Mike’s chest tightened. He wished she were here, so she could leave everything unlocked and put on makeup she didn’t need. He put the lip gloss in his pocket and was about to get out of the car when he saw the Dunkin’ Donuts cup in the cupholder. Chloe was