Andrew
Riley told them the news on a Sunday, because she said Sundays were for hard things.
She sat on the floor of the bedroom with her back against the bed, and she did not pull them into her lap the way she usually did. She just patted the carpet on either side of her, and the boys came and sat. Andy grabbed a fistful of Andrew's sleeve. Andrew let him.
"Your mama," Riley began, he saw her swallow and then stopped. "Your mother. She isn't coming back, babies."
Andrew had known. He had known since the policewoman's car had come up the driveway and nobody had got out of it for a long time. But knowing and hearing it were different things, and his stomach dropped the way it did on the stairs when you missed one.
"Did she say goodbye?" Andy asked.
Riley's hand went still on the carpet. "No, sweetheart. It happened very fast."
"Did it hurt?"
