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She was face-to-face with Babar and Tintin and the Little Prince Leaning against the books was a series of ss of a ni What was the word? Gaainst the books The later ones were more sophisticated, with some watercolor added All of the same la Guarding On the back of each ritten, Laurent, aged 1 Laurent, aged 2, and so on The first lamb, the simplest, had just "My Son" written on the back and a heart

Clara looked at Evie She had no idea this woer in the family, Laurent’s mother was the artist But there would be no

"Tell me about him" Clara walked back to the bed and sat beside Evie

And she did Abruptly, in staccato sentences at first Until in dibs and dabs and longer strokes, a portrait appeared Of an unexpected baby, who became an unexpected little boy Who always did and said the unexpected

"Al adored him from the moment he was conceived," Evelyn said "He’d sit in front of s,on that chair at the funeral The guitar on his lap Silent No songs left Clara wondered if, like her art, his rief

"He didn’t do it, you know"

"Pardon?" said Clara

"I’ve heard the gossip, we’ve seen how people look at us They want to say so nice, but they’re afraid we did it Do people really think that?"

Clara knew that grief took a terrible toll It was paid at every birthday, every holiday, each Christ, or a hat, or a balled-up sock Or hearing a creak that could have been, should have been, a footstep Grief took its toll each , every noon hour as those ere left behind struggled forward

Clara wasn’t sure how she’d havePeter was accompanied not by shepherd’s pie and apple crisp, but by accusations Not by kindness but by finger-pointing Not by company and embraces and patience, but by whispers and turned backs

Al Lepage, the most social of men, the edy kneeling in a field And no one had gone to get hi," said Clara "They don’t realize the har at whatever they can no ht they were friends"

"You have friends Lots of the you," said Clara