Lena cocked her head. "Of who?"

" Nan."

She laughed. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard you say." She added, "And we both know I've heard you say some really stupid shit."

Hank shrugged. "You had Sibby to yourself for a long time. I can see where her meeting somebody, getting involved with someone, might make it difficult for her to be there for you."

Lena felt her mouth open in shock. The fight she was hoping for seconds ago was now blowing up in her face. "You think I was jealous of Nan Thomas because she was fucking my sister?"

He flinched at her words. "You think that's all they were about?"

"I don't know what they were about, Hank," Lena said. "We didn't talk about that part of her life, okay?"

"I know that."

"Then why did you bring it up?"

He did not answer. "You're not the only one who lost her."

"When did you hear me say that I was?" Lena snapped, standing.

"It just seems that way," Hank said. "Listen, Lee, maybe you need to talk to somebody about this."

"I'm talking to you about it right now."

"Not me." Hank frowned. "What about that boy you were seeing? Is he still around?"

She laughed. "Greg and I split up a year ago, and even if we hadn't, I don't think I'd be crying on his shoulder."

"I didn't say you would be."

"Good."

"I know you better than that."

"You don't know a goddamn thing about me," she snapped. Lena left the room, her fists clenching as she took the steps upstairs two at a time, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

Her closet was filled mostly with suits and slacks, but Lena found a black dress tucked in the back. She pulled out the ironing board, stepping back, but not in time to miss the iron slipping off the shelf and smashing into her toe.

"Damnit," Lena hissed, grabbing her foot. She sat down on the bed, rubbing her toes. This was Hank's fault, getting her worked up this way. He was always doing this kind of thing, always pushing his damn AA philosophies about closure and sharing onto Lena. If he wanted to live his life that way, if he needed to live his life that way so that he did not end up shooting himself full of dope or drinking himself to death, that was fine, but he had no right to try to push that onto Lena.

As for his armchair diagnosis of Lena being jealous of Nan, that was just ridiculous. Her entire life, Lena had worked to help Sibyl become independent. It was Lena who had read reports aloud so that Sibyl did not have to wait for Braille translations. It was Lena who listened to Sibyl practice her oral exams and Lena who helped Sibyl with experiments. All that had been for Sibyl, to help her go out on her own, to get a job, to make a life for herself.

Lena opened the ironing board and placed the dress on it. She smoothed the material, remembering the last time she had worn this dress. Sibyl had asked Lena to take her to a faculty party at the college. Lena was surprised but had agreed to go. There was a clear line between college people and town folks, and she had felt uncomfortable in that crowd, surrounded by people who had completed not only college but also gone on to get higher degrees. Lena was not a country bumpkin, but she remembered feeling like she stuck out like a sore thumb.

Sibyl, on the other hand, had been in her element. Lena could remember seeing her at the center of a crowd, talking to a group of professors who seemed to be really interested in what she was saying. No one was staring at her the way people did when the girls were growing up. No one was making fun of her or making snide comments about the fact that she could not see. For the first time in her life, Lena had realized that Sibyl did not need her.

Nan Thomas had nothing to do with this revelation. Hank was wrong about that. Sibyl had been independent from day one. She knew how to take care of herself. She knew how to get around. She may have been blind, but in some ways she was sighted. In some ways, Sibyl could read people better than someone who could see because she listened to what they were saying. She heard the change of cadence in their voices when they were lying or the tremor when they were upset. She had understood Lena like no one else in her life.

Hank knocked at the door. "Lee?"

Lena wiped her nose, realizing that she had been crying. She did not open the door. "What?"

His voice was muffled, but she could hear him loud and clear. He said, "I'm sorry I said that, honey."

Lena took a deep breath, then let it go. "It's okay."

"I'm just worried about you."

"I'm okay," Lena said, turning on the iron. "Give me ten minutes and I'll be ready to go."

She watched the door, saw the doorknob turn slightly, then turn back as it was released. She heard his footsteps as he walked down the hall.

The Brock Funeral Home was packed to the gills with Sibyl's friends and colleagues. After ten minutes of shaking hands and accepting condolences from people she had never met in her life, Lena had a tight knot developing in her stomach. She felt like she might explode from standing still for too long. She did not want to be here, sharing her grief with strangers. The room seemed to be closing in on her, and though the air-conditioning was low enough to keep some people in their coats, Lena was sweating.

"Hey," Frank said, cupping her elbow in his hand.

Lena was surprised at the gesture but did not pull away. She felt overwhelmed with relief to talk to someone familiar.

"You hear what happened?" Frank asked, shooting Hank a sideways look. Lena felt a blush of embarrassment at the look, knowing that Frank had pegged her uncle for a punk. Cops could smell it from a mile away.

"No," Lena said, escorting Frank to the side of the room.

"Will Harris," he began in a low tone. "Somebody threw a rock through his front window."

"Why?" Lena asked, already guessing the answer.

Frank shrugged. "I don't know." He looked over his shoulder. "I mean, Matt." Again the shrug came. "He was with me all day. I don't know."

Lena pulled him into the hallway so they would not have to whisper. "You think Matt did something?"

"Matt or Pete Wayne," he said. "I mean, they're the only two I can think of."

"Maybe somebody in the lodge?"

Frank bristled, like she knew he would. She might as well have accused the pope of fiddling with a ten-year-old.

Lena asked, "What about Brad?"

Frank gave her a look.

"Yeah," Lena said. "I know what you mean." She could not say without a shadow of a doubt that Brad Stephens might not like Will Harris, but she knew that Brad would cut off his own arm before he broke the law. Once Brad had backtracked three miles just to pick up some trash that had accidentally blown out of his car window.

"I was thinking of talking to Pete later on," Frank said.

Without thinking, Lena checked the time. It was a little after five-thirty. Pete would probably be home.

"Can we take your car?" she asked, thinking she could leave hers for Hank to take home.

Frank looked back into the parlor. "You wanna leave your sister's wake?" he asked, not hiding his shock.

Lena stared at the floor, knowing she should feel ashamed at the very least. The fact was, she had to get out of this room with these strangers before grief took hold and she became too paralyzed to do anything but sit in her room crying.

Frank said, "Meet me around the side in ten minutes."

Lena walked back into the room, looking for Hank. He was standing by Nan Thomas, his arm around her shoulder. She felt herself bristle, seeing them together like that. He certainly had no problem comforting a complete stranger, no matter that his own flesh and blood was not ten feet away from him, alone.

Lena went back into the hallway to get her coat. She was slipping it on when she felt someone helping her. She was surprised to see Richard Carter behind her.