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Show Woodworth/78 something in Latin. Something i don't understand. I've if* only seen the plack once. I never wanted to look again. It was the only message that you left, and I don't understand it. At first, I told myself that I wasn't going to go in the chapel, because I was afraid that the minister knew, and would say something about the secret. And how you didn't have to die. You could have been helped. I was going to stand outside by the tree, and just wait there. I guess I even thought that you might come up to me from some place, and tell me why it was all happening. But I couldn't. Because Mom wasn't crying. Not because she was, but because she wasn't. Once we had finished going through your things, and had put everything into the car, she stopped, and just looked across the football field. They were having a game, or practice, or something. I thought she was just remembering about you being so bad at football. And that she would burst into tears. But she didn't. She kept on staring. Dad came and called to her, but she didn't answer. He took her by the elbow, and he led her to the chapel, and she just followed, still staring like that. Megan and I followed, too, and the whole way from the car to the chapel, I just looked at their backs. I was afraid that if I even so much as looked at the tree, that I would lose them, too. During lunch, they talked about Nantucket, too, and about the work that still needed to be done on the other boat before they could sell it. Every once in a while, when there would be a pause in the conversation, Mom would say, "We have to remember to tell the Meyers," or "Will you call the Brooks, or should I?" And Dad would say, "Yes," or "No," or "We cjin_jthink_about that later, when we get home," and |