Heather had never cared for wearing suits. They made her feel stiff in her skin, as though she were on trial or being assessed in a job interview. She wore one anyway, out of respect. It was the same suit she had worn for the funeral, brightened up with a pale green blouse and matching scarf. She sat, swallowed in one of the heavy, leather-bound chairs in the family lawyer"s office. Her mother was sitting squarely beside her. Behind them, seated in a row of wooden chairs that had been brought in from another room, were three of Hilary and Joan"s cousins on their mother"s side, all women in their sixties whom Heather had scarcely ever met. Heather felt crowded despite the size of the room. Before them, the partners desk of polished mahogany with its weathered top spoke of social prominence,
