It was pouring, but I didn’t move. I let the rain soak into my shoes, my hair, my palms. I was completely drenched, but I continued to sit at the park bench.

Maybe if I let the rain sink in, the news would too.

Dead.

It was hollow and meaningless. It didn’t even sound like English. There was no definition. Dead, dead, dead, dead. There was nothing. I should be crying, screaming, doing something! But no, I was sopping wet on a park bench.

Clara would come find me soon. She was good at that. It was like she had a super sense that allowed her to know when people needed a caring shoulder to cry on.

Why wasn’t I crying?