you don’t know what else they’re supposed to do with the answer.”
I looked toward the front of the bus.
My mother had died that spring. Elise knew about the hospital, the funeral, and the way my father still bought her brand of tea. She had brought food without calling it help and sat beside me through an evening when I could not tolerate another person saying how strong I was.
“I didn’t say you had to agree,” she added quietly.
“I wasn’t going to argue.”
“That’s how I know
