Noon-time sunbeams warmed Amy's shoulders as she stood on neat, even grass. No heels. No sunscreen, either. Only half-prepared. Glancing away from the line of familiar faces, she swallowed. No, she thought. Not prepared at all.
She let her hair hide her face when she stretched a lei-deep pink plumerias-across the casket's polished lid.
Later, she wavered on unsteady legs as she stripped off her black dress and draped herself in his blue pajamas. The fabric scratched her fresh sunburn; she barely noticed. She squeezed the red silk lei that he had slipped over her head once-had left on when he'd made love to her-and curled around her pillows, her voice thin and broken when she whispered, "I miss you."