Hunter lay in bed the night after they buried Nana, the images from her funeral fresh in his mind: the bright sunshine-infused day, the warm breeze, the autumnal colors of the leaves, almost seeming to glow against the backdrop of a sky so blue it looked unreal. The whole thing was so at odds with what Hunter had expected from a funeral: everyone in somber black, unceasing drizzle, black umbrellas raised against the cloud-choked sky.
He stared up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of a foghorn on Lake Michigan behind the house and the steady rush of traffic along Sheridan Road at the front. After his outburst at the funeral home, his eyes had remained dry, his emotions once again wrapped in cotton, leaving him feeling numb, like a zombie, just going through the motions. Was this how g
