Thirty
November 1, All Saints Day, New Orleans
The miniature city of the dead was quiet as the morning sun crept across dew damp grass and carved stone toward the Hastings’ family crypt. Dani put a bouquet of daisies in the fixed vase on one side of the steps, then turned and traced her daughter’s name where it was carved into the stone above Richard’s name.
There were a few other family members filtering into the cemetery to pay their respects, but none were close by.
Dani slid her capacious purse off her shoulder and sat on steps still cool from the November night. In a few minutes the sun found her. She smiled wryly. She and the sunrise were still greeting each other, despite the seventy times she’d tried to miss it since she left the mountains and Matt’s mile high city.
She was ba
