Nobody sat in it the whole night. That’s what it was for.
The row of mothers next to me went quiet one at a time. I could hear it happen. Bonnie first, then the next one, then the next one.
And then somebody stood up, somewhere at the back, and then it was everybody, and it took a long time, and I stayed in my seat because I could not have stood up if the building had been on fire.
Cal was still crouched in the aisle in front of me with one hand on my knee.
They put Willa’s diploma in my hands at the end of the row, after the recessional, out of a plain manila envelope that had been in a records room since June of 2016.
Some things about after.
Jules Amaro came to my front door on the Sunday. Two days.
He stood on my porch and cried and asked if Cal was home, and Cal came out, and they sat on the steps for about an hour, and I did not listen and I have never asked.
