It's a horrible affair.
People come up to me and offer condolences.
Their words won't bring back my husband and daughter.
But no one wants to see me break right now.
They want me to thankfully take their apologies and casseroles.
The fucking casseroles.

Peter would've hated this.
Of course, he probably hated dying, too.
But he's never been one to want attention.
Cherry, however, thrived in these situations.
All eyes on her,
endless stories to share,
too many dance routines to show off.

"Can I take you home now?" Jules asks me, pushing her blonde hair back over her shoulder.
She couldn't look less interested.
But she wants to be the supportive little sister.
She's three years younger yet we look like twins, aside from the hair.

"No," I tell her. "I'll make it on my own."
Unfortunately, we're all we have left now.
Our parents died when we were children.
Our grandmother passed after we'd moved out.
Jules' third husband left her two months ago.
Now my husband and daughter were gone.

Pitiful.
We're the last two Riveras in this sad town.