had been folded and put on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. In its place on the couch was a gray throw blanket with a tag still on it.
I went down the hall to my bedroom.
My bedroom. The one with the window that looks out over the sound. The one Nile and I slept in for nineteen summers.
There was a white bathrobe hanging on the hook on the back of the door. Thick, plush, with the same gold initials. B.A.
My own robe, my faded blue
