The boy’s kindergarten laughter rippled out in circles as he rode the painted horses. She didn’t like the merry-go-round, said it made her sick. She organized the bake sale in third grade and read stories in the school library once a month. She was voted President of the PTA that year. In fifth she chaperoned a trip to Washington. At the Lincoln Memorial she cried at the feet of the great leader, moved by his suffering, she said. We went down the staircase, her face in the reflecting pool. I wonder what she saw. Then the news of how she and the boy hurtled off that bridge, her gripping the wheel, pointing the grill of their boxy car down, down until it hit the river. The day of his graduation.