It is warmer here, and there is a time difference. I have a headache and a suit in the closet. The room is free of pets and children, along with their respective dander and infectious laughter. It is a quiet, white room with white, sun-faded curtains. The suit is black and it is time to put it on.
The next room is bright and full of color. There is music in the background and stains of steam clinging to windows still wet with morning. There is a mirror deep with reflection and in it stands a man with a tie in his hands, wondering which one she would have preferred. He will make a steady knot with shaking hands, and he will take several deep breathes. Then he will drive a mile to bury his wife.
I understand there will be bagpipes. I think she would have liked that.