Her name was Dana, and she worked at the same company as Lucas’s dad. He said she was helping him “cope,” that she was a friend, someone who understood what it meant to keep going. Lucas wasn’t sure what that meant, but he nodded. He nodded a lot those days. At first, she was sweet.
She’d bring little things—pastries, candles, even a set of throw pillows she claimed “warmed up the place.” She laughed easily, touched Lucas’s shoulder when she spoke to him, told him his eyes reminded her of his dad’s—and once, while ruffling his hair, added with a grin, “You know, redheads always look like they’re meant to stand out.” Lucas didn’t mind her.