Abigail had been found dead, she told me. She didn't know the how or the why of it, only that it had happened. There would be a memorial service- not a funeral- on Tuesday. Private. She thought it would be at the Church of the Resurrection, maybe, or First Baptist. (Not St. Anne's, not after....)
But it was probably too soon to know.
She'd heard all this from Thomas, who was too young to know it was being hushed up. Too young to know whenwherewhyhow, only the who and the what, that he'd been woken by the ambulance that ended up being too late.
As she told me all this, dabbing the corner of her eyes with her apron, words getting louder, faster as she began to speculate, to wonder aloud, I tried to pretend I didn't care. It didn't work.
Abigail Morrey stirred up a lot of things, but apathy wasn't one of them.
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