I brought twenty folding chairs to the literacy center and arranged them in a loose circle.
People arrived with photographs, books, and written memories of Evelyn. Ruth brought a lemon cake. Mark brought a box of old stories from their mother's house. Camille stood by the doorway, greeting each person who came in.
I sat near the sign-in table with a stack of paper programs. I had written one line at the top: We remember Evelyn Hart by telling the stories she made possible.
The room grew full. Some guests were family. Others were people from the center. I recognized a few from the funeral, including the man who had spoken about the chair by the window.
Camille sat beside me. "I'm glad you're here."
"I'm glad you asked me."
"What if I cry?"
"Then I'll sit beside you."
She let out a b
