“Only a formality.”
“Take care of yourself.”
The line clicked.
“Family only,” I said.
Tracy gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
“I’ve known about the dedication for three months,” she said.
“I should have told you.”
“I wanted to wait until it couldn’t hurt you any worse.”
“It can’t hurt me worse,” I said.
“It’s my husband’s name on a wall, and I’m not invited.”
“It can,” she said quietly.
“That’s why I’m coming with you.”
“I want you to stand next to me tomorrow, Hil.”
“I want you to stand next to me, and not leave my side, no matter what anybody says.”
“Can you do that?”
I looked at her, at the tired lines around her eyes and the gray at her temples and the hands that had once held mine through a bathroom floor in tenth grade.
“I don’t know,” I said.
