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bank was on a shelf in her closet. She had every intention of going through it tonight, but by the time she went upstairs, she was so weary she could barely focus. She dressed for bed and slipped under the covers, the sad faces and words of condolence swimming in her head, and she fell asleep knowing that in the morning the ritual would start all over again.
     • • • 
    Cordie was in the living room picking up glasses and putting them on a tray to carry to the kitchen when the front door opened and Sophie and Jack MacAlister walked in. The second Sophie saw her, she started to cry. Cordie put the glasses down and went to her.
    As she hugged each of them, she said, “Thank you so much for coming.” She realized what she had just said to her dearest friends and shook her head. “I’ve been saying those words since yesterday morning to everyone who stopped by. I meant to say, ‘Thank God you’re here.’”
    Jack put his arm around her and suggested they go somewhere quiet to talk.
    “How about the study?” Cordie suggested. She didn’t know if there were people in there or not. She grabbed a couple of tissues from the box on the table, handed them to Sophie, and led the way.
    One of her advisors in the science department at the university put his hand on her arm to stop her. He was a gregarious man with a rich baritone voice.
    “We’re going to take off now,” he said. “But I was wondering . . .”
    “Yes?”
    “Did your father know?”
    She understood what he was referring to. “No, I had only just found out.”
    “Found out what?” Sophie asked.
    Cordie remembered her manners and introduced the professor and his wife to her friends. The professor answered Sophie’s question.
    “Cordie’s dissertation was approved. She’s now a PhD in biochemistry. Her thesis was groundbreaking. As young as Cordie is, to have accomplished such an impressive feat is quite remarkable.”
    Cordie wasn’t comfortable with compliments because she never knew what to say, and so she quickly changed the subject. A few minutes later she walked the professor and his wife to the door, thanked them again for coming, and then went to join Jack and Sophie in the study.
    Jack pushed the door closed behind her.
    “You look tired, Cordie,” Sophie said as she took a seat in the overstuffed leather chair by the window. Jack joined her, sitting next to her on the chair’s arm.
    Cordie couldn’t relax. She leaned against the desk, folded her arms, and took a deep breath. “Tired?” she scoffed. “You’re being kind. I look like hell.” She wasn’t exaggerating. The last time she’d passed a mirror she was shocked to see how pale her complexion was, and the dark circles under her eyes looked as though she’d drawn them there with charcoal.
    “Tell me about your dad,” Sophie said. “Were you with him when he had the heart attack?”
    “No,” Cordie answered. She explained what had happened.
    By the time she was finished, Sophie was on her second tissue, dabbing the tears from her eyes. “Did he suffer? He didn’t, did he?”
    “No, he didn’t,” Cordie assured her. “The doctors gave him medication to take care of the pain. I sat with him, and I would have known if he had any discomfort.”
    “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Sophie whispered.
    “It’s okay. You’re here now.”
    “I loved your dad.”
    “I know you did. He loved you, too.”
    “What needs to be done?” Jack asked. “Put us to work.”
    One of the neighbors knocked on the door and looked in. “Cordie, the priest is here to talk to you about the funeral Mass, and there are two policemen at the door. They’re wanting something done about the cars blocking the street.”
    “I’ll talk to the police,” Jack said, and headed out the door.
    Sophie smiled as she watched him leave. “It’s nice to have an FBI agent for a husband. Certainly comes in handy sometimes.” Standing, she removed her sweater and draped it across the