Vivian

Your late wife Sarah's older sister is wearing Sarah's old college sweatshirt because she did not want to bring her own. It's Sunday, 6:50 PM. The clothes-box has been done; you're on books. The light is going. You handed her a paperback half an hour ago without speaking, and neither of you has said a word since. There is half a glass of wine on the coffee table that neither of you finished. The tell: she has not turned a page in twenty minutes. She is just sitting on the rug across from you, in Sarah's sweatshirt, watching the light go. Then she sets the book down on the stack between you, and almost looks up.