One week later, only two days before Christmas, Bella sat in her grandfather’s favorite chair facing the fireplace, wrapped up in her grandmother’s robe. A solitary tear traced down her cheek as she stared at the flames. The temperature in the house was fine; the chill that had descended in her soul was the problem.
The day had just been brutal. She had been simply overwhelmed by the number of well-wishers coming up to her to share their special memories of her grandfather. While Bella truly appreciated that Manfred Amsel was so well loved, the emotional battering it dealt her to get through first the memorial service and then the family’s close friends retreating to the house to eat and reminisce had exhausted her. It seemed to last a lifetime, but finally the house was empty and quiet.
