The doorframe splintered when she leaned her shoulder into it and the sound felt louder than it should have been. Nora did not step back. She kept her weight there until the wood gave and the door opened enough for her to slip inside. The smell of cold air and old varnish met her. Somewhere deeper in the house a clock chimed the wrong hour and stopped. She set her bag down and rested her forehead against the wall. The silence pressed in like a held breath. Nora Helen Whitaker closed her eyes and counted until the tightness in her chest found an edge. The papers waited on the kitchen…

The voicemail ended before she was ready and the phone went quiet in her hand. June stood in the narrow kitchen and stared at the small red light that refused to blink again. The kettle screamed on the stove. She turned it off without lifting her eyes. Outside a ferry horn sounded and cut short as if reconsidering. She sat at the table and waited for the weight to settle somewhere she could carry it. It chose her shoulders. June Evelyn Parker folded the paper she had been given that morning and placed it beneath the salt cellar. Her full name printed at the top felt stiff and distant like…

She closed the door and felt the lock catch without resistance. The sound landed heavy and complete. For a moment she stood with her hand still on the knob and waited for the echo that did not come. The hallway smelled like dust and lemon oil. Somewhere outside a buoy rang once and then stopped. The table held a stack of papers aligned too carefully. She sat and signed where the ink told her to. Her hand moved with a steadiness that surprised her. When she finished she folded the pages and placed them back into the envelope. The name printed at the top looked distant and official. Clara Josephine…

The glass slipped from her hand and shattered before the sound reached her ears. Anna did not flinch. She stared at the spread of water across the kitchen floor and the way it crept toward the baseboard as if it had somewhere to be. Outside the window a train horn sounded once and then cut off. She knew before she looked at the clock that it was five seventeen. She knelt and pressed a towel to the spill. Her fingers shook. The water was cold. When she stood the room tilted slightly and then steadied. She breathed in and counted to four and stopped because four was the number she…

The phone vibrated on the nightstand and stopped. Mara did not reach for it. She lay still and listened to the house settle as if the walls were deciding whether to stay. Outside the surf hit the rocks with a sound that came too early in the morning. When the vibration came again she turned her face into the pillow and breathed through the weight in her chest. By the time the sun reached the window she was sitting at the kitchen table with cold coffee and the phone dark between her hands. The message remained unread. She knew the words without seeing them. She had learned this kind of…

The pen slipped once and left a blot where his name should have been. She pressed harder until the paper bruised and the sound of it felt final. Outside the window the harbor bells rang noon and did not wait for her. In the waiting room the air smelled of disinfectant and old rain. Eleanor Mae Holloway sat with her hands folded as if they belonged to someone else. The chair fabric scratched her skin through the thin black dress. She watched a man across from her count the tiles with his shoe and stop at the same number each time. When the nurse called her back Eleanor Mae Holloway…