It took Jane ten minutes to navigate the aisles and find three cushions that looked wide enough and thick enough that they might work for sitting shivah, and when she returned to Charlie’s apartment she found her brother curled into the fetal position around baby Sophie, asleep on the kitchen floor. The other mourners had completely forgotten about him.

“Hey, doofus.” She nudged his shoulder with her toe and he rolled onto his back, the baby still in his arms. “These okay?”

“Did you see anything glowing?”

Jane dropped the stack of cushions on the floor. “What?”

“Glowing red. Did you see things in the shop glowing, like pulsating red?”

“No. Did you?”

“Kind of.”

“Give ’em up.”

“What?”

“The drugs. Hand them over. They’re obviously much better than you led me to believe.”

“But you said they were just antianxiety.”

“Give up the drugs. I’ll watch the kid while you shivah.”

“You can’t watch my daughter if you’re on drugs.”

“Fine. Surrender the crumb snatcher and go sit.”

Charlie handed the baby up to Jane. “You have to keep Mom out of the way, too.”

“Oh no, not without drugs.”

“They’re in the medicine cabinet in the master bath. Bottom shelf.”

He was sitting on the floor now, rubbing his forehead as if to stretch the skin out over his pain. She kneed him in the shoulder.

“Hey, kid, I’m sorry, you know that, right? Goes without saying, right?”

“Yeah.” A weak smile.

She held the baby up by her face, then looked down in adoration, Mother of Jesus style. “What do you think? I should get one of these, huh?”