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 will open later," she had explained to Franz. "They will last longer."
Leo walked beside her with his whale tucked under his arm. In his pocket, folded into a careful square, was a drawing he had made with his new colored pencils. He had not shown anyone what was on it.
Franz and Arianne followed a few steps behind.
Franz wore a dark coat with 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.
