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“Out with it,” her mother snapped.“What idiotic thing did he do this time?”

“He died.We found him in his car in the parking lot of Denny’s with a shotgun.”

Beverly jerked backward knocking Carla to the floor.It was almost as if retreating into the house would reverse the news.Beverly put her hand over her mouth and ran out of the room.

Carla heard herself screaming as though it were coming from someone else.Her father came rushing in and grabbed Carla to see if she’d hurt herself.Then the policeman told him what had happened to Roy.Carla would never forget the way her father’s face aged in front of her eyes.

Beverly never got over the fact that her son committed suicide.She didn’t get out of bed for months, her eyes slowly sinking into her face and her skin turning the color of old parchment paper.

Beverly and Mort blamed each other for Roy’s death, which led to their eventual split.Since Beverly got very little money in the divorce, she told Carla she’d have to work harder, meaning she would be home even less.Beverly took jobs even if the cost of traveling exceeded what she got paid.To Carla, it felt like her mother wanted to be anywhere but home with her.

Mort moved to Chicago and lived with his sister, Marcy, for a year until he became enamored with one of the women who played in Marcy’s Mah-Jong group.

“Your father is pursuing that little tramp like a rat searching for scraps in a Chinese restaurant,” Beverly told Carla.Mort married her a year later and disappeared from Carla’s life.

Carla’s days became a relentless cycle of school, laundry, food shopping, cooking, and cleaning, and every night when she went to bed, she’d hug her pillow tightly and cry.She couldn’t understand, even if things were bad, why someone would kill themselves.

CHAPTER 7

Charlie

Carla’s funeral was held in the smallest room at Mount Sinai cemetery.A raised platform held an urn with Carla’s ashes, a flower arrangement, and a recent picture of her.The room was painted a pale shade of gray, and soft lighting and quiet instrumental music played in the background.The subtle scent of sandalwood floated through the air.Charlie knew these elements were designed to create a peaceful atmosphere to mourn a loss, but the sound of the wind outside contradicted any sense of calm she might have felt.The wind was so fierce that it caused the branches of trees to scrape against the windows like hungry werewolves trying to break in.

Charlie, Abby, and Morgan sat in white plastic chairs in the front row.Abby’s husband, Alex, had to stay home with their children.Charlie scowled at all the empty chairs as if they were betraying her mother’s memory.

“I put the obituary on Facebookandin the newspaper,” Charlie said as if the low number of mourners were her fault.

There was a total of just over twenty people scattered around the room, and because of Carla’s recent fame, five were curious strangers.

Carla’s co-workers and a few of her neighbors, including Martha and Esther, sat in the third row next to Carla’s best friend, Ginny.Charlie nodded at the women from her mother’s book club.She knew them because when she was in town visiting her mother, Carla would convince her to go to a meeting, even though Charlie hadn’t read the book.One of the women looked back at Charlie with such pity that she had to turn away.

The rabbi Morgan had found on the internet did a beautiful job incorporating what they had told him about their mom, even though he referred to her as Cara a few times.

During the service, the sisters fell apart in stages.When the rabbi described their mother as someone who loved her girls more than anything else, Morgan got choked up.When he went on to describe how Carla had raised the girls alone and put all her energy into making sure they had everything they needed to become successful adults, Charlie began to cry softly.When the rabbi ended the service by saying that Carla would live on through her daughters and grandchildren, Abby covered her mouth to stop a sob.

After the service, a short line of people waited to offer their condolences.Martha, first in line, bawled as if Carla had beenhermother.

“Your mother had so much to live for,” Martha wailed.“I should be the one in that urn; she saved my life!”Charlie tried to comfort her but gave up when she realized she couldn’t.

After Martha moved away, the women from the book club stepped up together.

“Your mom was so nice; we’re going to miss her,” the first woman said.

“Carla joined our group eight years ago,” another woman said.“She was on the quieter side, but she loved historical romances, kettle corn, and chocolate-covered graham crackers.”

“Thank you all for coming today,” Abby said.

Ginny approached each of the sisters, hugging them as if she could infuse them with all the emotional strength she could muster.

“Please know I’m here for all of you for whatever you need,” Ginny said.“Call me any time.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said.

After everyone had left, Morgan went over to thank the rabbi.Abby picked up the urn, Charlie grabbed the three bouquets of flowers, and then the sisters walked outside to Abby’s minivan.

Abby handed the urn to Morgan, who got into the front passenger seat.Charlie opened the back door and got in.Abby walked slowly around the car and slid into the driver’s seat.The three of them sat there so long that the parking lot emptied, and the cleaning crew entered the building.

“It’s sad that Mom didn’t have more friends,” Morgan said, breaking the silence.