Connie
It all started at Rachel’s funeral — or, after, actually, when everybody in the family was crowded into our house — the one I no longer shared with Rachel, but still had Lisa and Suzanne to take care of in. It was just hitting me again that Rachel wasn’t going to be there, again, ever ... Connie, Rachel’s mother, was at the sink, washing dishes. We really didn’t have enough glassware to be supporting the drinking habits of thirty or forty people. “John, where do these go?” she asked. I stepped...