Chapter 9

Neither of us said a word while we waited for the water to come to a boil. I went about my routine of filling the plunger with fresh ground coffee, then poured the water and brought it to the table with two mugs. “Cream or sugar?” He shook his head. I sat down and poured the coffee before asking the all-important question. “What did you want to see me about?”

Cliff blew across the surface of his coffee, took a sip, then placed the mug on the table, and cupped his hands around it as if keeping himself warm. I couldn’t tell if he needed that first sip of coffee or he was trying to stall, unsure of the real purpose of his visit. He looked at me. His left eye twitched.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“And.” I nudged him further.

“And I was going through our closet picking out clothes for—” He took another sip. “—the funeral. I couldn’t stay there. I didn’t want to be alone.”

“Are you talking about the clothes or the memories?”