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Robin grimaced. “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“No. But her mind is made up. She said she’ll take a bus if I don’t drive her.”

“A bus?”

Oh shit. So Robin didn’t know. “She doesn’t feel comfortable driving yet,” he said.

“Sure, of course. Where is it?”

“Patterson.”

“I could take her,” Robin said.

For a moment Charlie was tempted to accept. The last thing in the world he wanted was to go to the funeral—it seemed to him intrusive and inappropriate. What right did they have to share in that family’s private grief? And he feared that Alison’s presence could be seen as worse than inappropriate—it might come across as callous. The fact was that if Alison hadn’t been at that intersection—and perhaps, too, if she hadn’t drunk those martinis—the boy would still be alive.

But Charlie knew he couldn’t let Robin take his place. A line from the book he’d read to Annie and Noah the night before, The Bear Went over the Mountain, came to mind: Can’t go over it. Can’t go under it. We have to go through it.

He shook his head. “Thanks for offering.”

“I’ll watch the kids.”

Charlie smiled in tacit acceptance.

After Robin went upstairs, he unloaded and loaded the dishwasher with breakfast bowls, wiped the counter, picked toys off the kitchen floor. Then he stood in the hall and cocked his head, listening. He could hear the quiet murmur of voices. He took his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed Claire’s cell.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Where are you?”

“God. I’ve been waiting for you to call.”

“I couldn’t.”

“I know. I wasn’t expecting it. I just—hoped. I did leave a message for Alison a while ago.”

“I know. She mentioned it. That was—good of you. So where are you?”

“On the way to LaGuardia. Book tour, remember?”

“Oh yeah. Real life,” he said.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well, this sure doesn’t.”

She grunted. “What you’re going through is as real as it gets, right?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Surreal, I’d say.” He suddenly felt very tired. He didn’t have the energy to say another word. He wanted to crawl into a hole and go to sleep for a very long time.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie,” Claire said.

For the first time since the accident, Charlie felt his throat constrict, his eyes blur with tears. He swallowed hard.

“It’s okay,” she said softly.

“It’s really not.” He choked, biting down on the words to keep his voice under control.

“I wanted to come out there, but I just—”

“I know. I didn’t—want you here.” He almost took it back, fearing that she would take offense at his bluntness.

But all she said was, “That’s what I figured. I’m sure it’s been hard enough.”

“Yeah.”

“I just—I wish I could see you.”

“I know.” His longing for her was so acute that it felt cancerous, deep in his bones.

“Ben wants to come. He’ll call.”

“Okay.”

“How is she?”

“She’s okay. I mean, what can I say? She’s devastated. She’s okay.”

“I know.”

“Enough about all this. I should be asking about you,” he said.

“No, you shouldn’t. Not now.”

“Later,” he whispered.

“Later,” she said.

CHARLIE DROPPED ALISON at the door of the funeral home and went off to park, then slipped into the maroon-carpeted chapel right before the doors closed. Alison was sitting alone in the back pew. The song “Tears in Heaven” was playing, an instrumental version heavy on the strings that Charlie guessed the funeral home must have had on a mix tape tailored for children. At the front, flanked by two large, heart-shaped flower forms as tidily patterned as frosting on a supermarket cake, was a small baby blue casket.

“It’s tiny,” she murmured.

“At least it’s not open,” Charlie said under his breath.

The chapel was more than half full; there were probably sixty people. When everyone was settled the minister talked about the senselessness of this kind of tragedy, but also about how God had a plan for each of us, and how it was not our place to question that plan. Other people, speaking in tear-choked voices, recalled Marco’s love of baseball, his collection of Matchbox cars, his uncanny ability to mimic advertising jingles from