Two Brookline police cars, front wheels on the curb and rear wheels on the street, cordon off the sidewalk. Their sirens are silent, but spinning blue lights reflect, harsh and unnatural, on the snow. Four black-jacketed officers stand sentinel, blowing into their hands, their breath puffing white. An ambulance, rear doors toward the garage and a uniformed EMT beside it, blocks the driveway. The garage door is closed. The front door is closed. No one is hurrying. But me. I trot toward the murmuring knot of onlookers, my mind racing for explanations, scanning for a familiar navy wool overcoat. Josh turns, sees me, just as I get close enough. A blue light flashes across his face. “So it’s true. Is it true? I got here fast as I could,” I whisper, tucking both arms through the crook of his elbow. I look around. “Penny?” “She’s home with Annie. The kids don’t know yet.” “Who’s here?” “The Head’s inside, so’s Dorothy’s younger sister, Millie. She’s just back from a business trip.
