I reminded myself that thousands who’d never seen her at all would, at the report of her death, mourn as if they’d lost a loved one. And I suppose they had. On television tomorrow, there’d be an orgy of bereavement. When stars die suddenly it’s as if they give us our chance to grieve over Death itself, at how fast it can come and come too soon, at how much it can rob us of grace. I saw the Irish singer leaping perfectly through the morning mist into lake water. I heard her voice flying toward me like a bird of paradise. “I don’t understand why nobody called me about this!” Cuddy was griping to Bubba. “Car accident?” The big redhead laughed without humor. “Accident would have been better.” Cuddy, flipping channels on his muted television, wasn’t much interested. “Overdose?” Bubba rubbed the cool beer can against his forehead. “Shot herself. In the head.” His words brought me to my feet.
