Chapter 21: Marsh Street

My mother's grave was at the far end of a Tacoma cemetery, under a maple that dropped red leaves on the stone.

It was a small gray stone with one word on it, *Marsh*, and two dates.

I had put it there with the last of my savings.

At nine the next morning, nine people stood on the wet grass around it.

Mr. and Mrs. Livingstone stood in dark coats, and Mrs. Livingstone held a bunch of white roses in both hands.

Five brothers stood behind them, in jeans and sweaters.

Winslow stood at my side with his hands in his pockets.

Winifred had sent a driver with a rug for the ground and a note that said *I am ninety-two and not for graves.*

"Mama," I said.

I had not said it out loud to her in fourteen months.

"These are the people I told you about. The ones who were looking for me, and the ones who weren't."

The wind moved the leaves.

"They have something to say to you."

Nobody spoke.

I waited.

Dalton stepped forward first and took off his gloves.

"Ma'am," he said, to the stone.

He had trouble starting.

"I'm Dalton Livingstone. Your daughter was in my building and I told three hundred people she was nobody. I don't have a good reason."

He put the gloves down on the grass.

The cardiologist went next.

"I'm a doctor," he said. "I should have noticed what I was looking at. I'm sorry, ma'am. I'll notice from now on."

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