humidity. The programs, which Lydia Chapin had ordered from a posh stationery in Georgetown, and which were filled with inspirational passages from the New Testament, were appreciated more as makeshift fans than as guides to spiritual healing. Dressed in a simple dark gray suit, Sydney thought the weather was the final cosmic insult heaped upon her sister, who had always preferred the cool of late autumn and had suffered terribly through Washington’s summers. She stood just behind her mother and Amanda, letting her eyes wander, taking in the somber menagerie that had gathered at the family plot. She was amazed at the sheer number of people. The death of someone so young, brought about by such violent means, could, she supposed, bring out even the most casual acquaintance, but the mood of the crowd suggested a grief more genuine than mere curiosity could explain. Sydney found herself wondering how many people would show up at her own funeral were she to die so young. Fewer, certainly, she concluded.
