When Kay and I arrive at the cemetery the sun has already dipped behind the trees, bathing the grounds in a dreamy half-light that gives our visit an eerie quality.
With measured, sure strides she guides me to her family’s plot. “Dad would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t buried them together. Not that I believe in any of that life after death nonsense.” She takes my hand and turns to me. “Which may make what I’m about to say sound extra ridiculous.” Her grin has a solemn air to it, as if not wanting to go all out because of the place we’re at. “Mom, Daddy,” she turns to the gravestone again, gripping my hand tightly, “I’m sure you remember little Ella Goodman. She’s grown into the brainiac professor we always thought she would be, but she’s also much more than that. She’s kind, a littl
