The bottles were locked inside my bedroom.
Ruth looked at me.
“Go get what’s yours.”
So I drove home.
The Lockhearts’ car was still in the driveway.
I approached quietly, intending to retrieve my medication without causing an argument.
Then I heard voices near my bedroom.
Avery’s mother, Suzanne, was standing outside the door.
My mother stood beside her, holding a tissue.
Suzanne gently touched the door.
“May I?”
Mom nodded.
Suzanne bowed her head and began praying.
My mother started crying.
“I still can’t bring myself to open this room.”
I stood outside, completely confused.
Why would someone pray over my bedroom door?
And why was my mother behaving as though entering it would be unbearable?
I waited until the visitors left.
Then I went inside.
On the dining table was a photograph of a flowering dogwood.
At its base stood a memorial stone.
In Loving Memory of Anastasia Dunaway.
