“You’re Julian’s mom,” she said. And Jocelyn, who had not heard herself called that for several years, felt with sudden alarm the pressure of tears building behind her
eyes.
“Yes,” Jocelyn said. “And you are—?”
“I’m Tessa,” said the young woman. “I knew Julian in college. We were both in Physics. He helped me a lot homework and stuff. I wasn’t very good at math. I took
terrible notes. Julian always shared his. I’m sorry, I couldn’t come to the funeral but I felt bad and since I was visiting someone close by I thought I’d bring you
these.”
She thrust the roses forward awkwardly.
None of this made any sense, Jocelyn thought. Why had the girl waited four years? A half dozen of Julian’s classmates had attended the funeral, and they had seemed uncomfortable,
unsure of where to put their
