The phone rang and Beatrice picked up.
A wavering female voice hesitated and then asked, “Is Wyatt there?”
“No, I’m sorry, he’s not. I believe he’s visiting the nursing homes today. This is Beatrice . . . may I take a message for him? Or may I help?”
There was a pause and then the woman said, “Hi, Beatrice. It’s Marion. Gail’s mom.”
“Marion. Oh, I’m so sorry about Gail.”
Marion gave a shaky sigh on the other side. “Thank you, dear. I feel like I should be so much in shock over it as I am. But it’s just too hard to lose a child.”
“Of course it is. I’m sorry I can’t connect you with Wyatt right now. He did get in touch with you earlier, I hope?” Beatrice frowned, trying to remember what Wyatt had been talking about the last day. It seemed like a blur of hospital visits and planning for
