PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

me.”

I closed the notebook.

That last part could have made me angry again.

Maybe it should have.

But grief had changed the shape of my anger. It was no longer a fire looking for someone to burn. It was a lamp showing me where the work was.

Over the next week, I stayed in Los Angeles.

I ignored Aunt Diane’s calls until the fifth message, when she said, “Avery,continue reading …