The mausoleum doors were already open.
Someone from the cemetery staff had been there before them. The morning light fell through the high windows in pale shafts, cold still, the color of spring. Outside, the first birds were calling. Inside, the silence was absolute.
Lily carried the yellow roses. She had chosen them herself at the florist, rejecting three bunches before settling on the one with the most petals still closed.
"They'll open later," she'd explained to Franz. "They'll last longer."
Leo walked beside her. His whale was tucked under his arm. In his pocket, folded into a careful square, was a drawing he'd made with his new colored pencils. He hadn't shown anyone what was on it.
Franz and Arianne followed a few steps behind.
Franz wore a dark coat. No tie. He had been quiet this morning. The quiet of a man who had said what he needed to say to his brother and was now carrying the rest in silence.
