Chapter 8The number left over when subtracting one year from the other under the name Lawrence Beadle on his headstone was far too small. Who died of a heart attack before age thirty-six?
Lawrence had.
Almost daily summer storms had the grass at the cemetery at its brightest green in every direction. The sky above was a paler blue than Dom’s grocery tote, almost teal, and the air was heavy enough to make the marble of the dark and light gray rectangular grave marker tacky to the touch.
“It’s probably going to rain again. Might as well be back home,” Warwick said to the headstone.
He and Lawrence had talked about going back to the UK for a year or more but never had. They talked about going other places, but Boston felt like home. And Lawrence knew he was sick.
“I was so angry,” Warwic
