cry by herself, the agony numbing her so deeply.  He walked up to her and gently touched her arm.  She closed her eyes for a second, until he spoke to her.

     “Christine,” he said softly.

     Her eyes popped open, and she breathed, then went on with the task at hand.  She had started to feel something, but determined it would stay buried underneath the grief that crushed her, that was snuffing out any feeling in her soul day by day.  He didn’t take his hand away from her arm.

     “Christine, we have to talk about this.”

     “About what.  We have nothing to talk about,” she said softly, numbly.

     “About them.  About our grief, o...

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