Two

Andrea didn't remember walking back to the van or the drive home. She spent the rest of the day in tortured thought, unaware of what went on around her. She nearly forgot to pick up the children from school that afternoon.

When Robin asked what they were having for supper, she said, "You don't mind frosted flakes and a banana tonight, do you?" The thought of food made Andrea nauseous.

She couldn't sleep that night, could do no more than lie awake in the darkness and try to absorb this new blow. It couldn't be true. She heard the grandfather clock downstairs strike at each quarter hour throughout the night. Twice, she turned on the Tiffany lamp on her night stand to re-read the note. It wasn't her imagination.

Andrea struggled to believe the note was from his mother or sister, though the lettering didn't resemble either of their handwriting. Besides, his sister lived in Indiana, and it was improbable that Gram would leave such a note.

Perhaps some woman had loved Jack and her feelings were not returned, an unrequited love -- tragic, but leaving Jack innocent.

At about five in the morning Andrea convinced herself that it was some kind of mistake. Perhaps the note had blown over from a nearby grave; some other man named Jack, a dreadful coincidence. Andrea wanted to find an acceptable explanation; but more than anything, she needed to know the truth. Without it she didn't know how to feel about Jack or his suicide.