She got out Max’s ring and held it in her hand; it gave her some comfort. In the other one she had the pizzino from Constantine Barolli. Come Friday morning. Early. C. She closed her eyes and let it all wash over her: the rage, the grief, the guilt, the fear. Max was gone for ever, and she had to accept that. Had to. She could hear Norman Greenbaum’s Spirit in the Sky drifting out from Ellie’s room. Lyrics all about death. But accepting Max’s death was hard, almost too hard to bear. He was dead, and she was still alive, and she almost wished their positions were reversed. But Max wouldn’t allow his feelings to stand in the way of what he needed to do, and neither must she. She had to be strong. Dig deep and stand alone. She’d lived by that creed all her life, clinging to it when the going got hard. It had sustained her, allowed her to always find a way through. Would she find a way through this time? She had to. Annie turned her face into the pillow and gritted her teeth and willed herself to be strong enough to go on with this.
