This was going to be harder than I’d thought. Maggie knew me well. And she knew I didn’t envision myself having kids anytime soon or possibly ever. Maybe something in my past gave me the instinct to delay the child-rearing process; like maybe it was some response to the fact that I’d helped raise my brother, and I’d felt rather grownup when I was young. Sam, on the other hand, definitely wanted kids. He wanted to try in the next few years, he’d said. My response to that was always, “Okay, we’ll talk about it in the next few years.” Then Sam would ask, “Where do you see us in five years? What about in ten years?” Those kinds of questions confounded me. I simply didn’t look that far ahead.

“Look, honey,” Maggie said in a serious tone. “I know you miss Sam, and I know you’re freaking out. But practicing taking care of kids, or even pretending you want to have them, won’t bring him back.”

“I know.” I started loading the dishwasher. It felt like a relief to do something normal.

“It seems like you’re reaching for something to hold on to. Something that Sam wanted.”

How to convince her? “Here’s the deal,” I said. “I’m lonely without Sam.”

It was the truth. I glanced to the right of the sink, where I kept a tiny framed photo of Sam and me at a boat party a few years ago. Just looking at our happy faces gave me an ache in my stomach. I lifted the photo and placed it facedown.

“And normally, Sam and I would watch the Bears game together,” I continued, “but with him gone, I…I’m just lost. I think being with children would ground me. Remind me what’s important.” Now, I had no idea what I was saying, but it sounded good.

“Oh, honey,” Maggie said. “All right, well, I’ll get my niece Kaitlyn tomorrow-she’s four but she’s cool-and we’ll come visit you.”

“I’d like to take her by myself. It’ll be nice to spend time with her. And my inner child.”

Silence. Had I pushed too far with the “inner child” bit?

“I miss Sam,” I said again with a sigh.

And that seemed to do it. “Okay, I’ll give Mary a call,” she said. “She’ll be excited to have Kaitlyn out of her hair for a few hours.” She gave me her sister’s phone number and told me to work out the details with her later.

“What are you doing today?” she asked.

“I guess I’m going to work. Then I have to go to Forester’s funeral.” Another kick to my gut. This one so swift and intense I had to go into my bedroom and sit down on the bed. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe they’re both gone.”

At the office, with the door closed, I managed to get through two hours of work on the final details of Jane Augustine’s contract before my mind wavered. The loneliness I’d been telling Maggie about was slowly edged out and then finally given a sharp elbow by another feeling-anger. What in the hell had Sam done? I got out a legal pad and decided to take on an entirely different task.

A few minutes later, Q opened the door and stepped inside. “What are you doing?”

I held up the yellow pad. “Making a list.”

“Of what?”

“This is a list of red flags. Things that, in retrospect, could have tipped me off that Sam was a schmuck.”

“Sam wasn’t a schmuck.”

“Don’t refer to him in the past tense.”

“You’re the one calling him names.”

“He’s a potential schmuck. That’s what the list is for.”

Q crossed his arms. “All right. What do you have so far?”

“Number one-he gets moody when his rugby team loses. Even when he’s not playing.”

“He’s competitive, so what?”

“Number two-when we watch dumb movies, he always laughs, and I mean really hard, at the poop jokes.”

Q rolled his eyes. “All men, gay or straight, think those are funny.”

I tapped my pen on my notepad. “Three-he gets those hairs that grow out of his nose.”

Q pointed at his nostrils. “Same answer. All men.”

“Next-he makes this loud smacking sound when he eats something that he thinks is delicious.”

“Okay, that’s enough. These are all just things that bug you about Sam. And it’s normal for things to bug you when you’re in a relationship.” He exhaled. “God knows, I could make a list two pages long about Max.”

“Is that true?”

“It grows longer every day.”

“Then why-”

Q held up a hand. “We’re talking about you, not me. And none of those things on your list mean Sam is a schmuck. Or a criminal.”

I pushed the notepad away. “I know.”

“So what are you doing?”

“I guess I’m trying to remind myself of the things I don’t like about him.”

“In case you have to let him go.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Iz.” Q took a step and perched on the edge of a visitor’s chair. “How are you holding up?”

I was about to tell him about the break-in, when Tanner stuck his head in my office. “Do you need a ride to the funeral?” Tanner said without pleasantries, without addressing Q.

“I brought my car,” Q said.

“Izzy?” Tanner said, still looking at me.

“I’ll ride with Q. But thanks for thinking of me, Tan.”

Tanner disappeared without another word.

“Will wonders never cease?” Q said.

“He’s never been so nice to me,” I whispered.

Q shrugged and looked at his watch. “We should get going.”

In the hallway, we could see the office beginning to empty out as many left for the funeral. Q and I got his car from the garage and headed north.

When we got off Highway 41 and began to drive through Lake Forest, I noticed for the first time that it was a beautiful day-not as cold as the day before, many of the trees still vibrant, the color of marigold. Yet I kept turning around, trying to determine if any of the cars that had been near us on the highway were still there.

“Was that blue SUV behind us a mile ago?” I asked Q.

He glanced in the rearview mirror. “I don’t know. Why?”

I wondered if I should tell him I was probably being followed. On one hand, I usually told Q everything. On the other hand, there was something off about him lately, and I had the strange feeling he was holding back from me. Plus, the truth was, I was still craving normality. I wanted it to be like it always was with Q and me.

“No reason,” I said. I tried to enjoy the falling leaves. “Nice day for this, I guess.”

“I guess.” He was quiet, his eyebrows hanging low over his eyes, the way he got when something was weighing heavy on him.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, of course. It’s just…you know, it’s hard. Forester meant a lot to so many people. I guess I’m nervous for everyone. For how this is going to go.”

“It’s going to be tough.”

“Yeah.”

I kept swiveling around and memorizing license-plate numbers while we drove through the hills and woods of Lake Forest. It was one of those towns where people moved when they made a lot of money and wanted out of the city.

The funeral was at Saint Mary’s, a grand old church near the downtown area, and the front lawn was blanketed with media. News trucks topped with satellite dishes lined the streets. Reporters broadcasted from every corner. A few chased after funeral attendees, hoping for a sound bite to put them ahead of the rest.

“What will you miss about Forester Pickett?” a reporter shouted at everyone who passed.

“Care to comment on Mr. Pickett’s death?” yelled another.

“What will happen to Pickett Enterprises now?” from another.

It was a bizarre thing to watch. It seemed so disrespectful of Forester, intruding on everyone’s grief. Yet, Forester would have understood implicitly. I could hear him say, “Let them get their story.”

Inside the church, it was quiet, hushed. Massive wooden beams curved skyward and impressive, stained-glass windows scattered ethereal shards of light. We spotted Max, who rushed forward when he saw us. Max was of Chilean descent, a small man, and he had a sad face matching the rest of the congregation’s. He’d met Forester at his summer barbecues and he, like so many of us, had adored the man.