VEDA

After two uneventful weeks, the day of my sister's memorial service arrived. I rode with Sammy to the funeral home, my hands twisted in

my lap. I'd wanted to bring flowers, but with my allergies, it was impossible to have them in the car with me. I'd arrive looking like I just stepped out of a Rocky movie after the final match, so I'd sent them ahead.

My father had wanted to have the service at their house, but my mother talked him out of it. She said she didn't want the memory of mourning her daughter assaulting her every time she entered that room to watch television at...