Christopher Chambers walked into a fast food restaurant at the end of 1985, picking up a quick dinner after work for his family. Ahead of him, two men got into an argument. One of them pulled a knife. Wanting to make the best of peace, Chris stepped in between them and was stabbed in the throat. He died almost instantly.

"Toby?" Gordie chucked a carrot stick at his cousin, hitting her in the side of the face. "In order to feed the baby, you need to actually feed the baby."

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Toby glanced up, startled, as if noticing her surroundings for the first time. "Sorry. Will you feed him for me? I'm going to take a nap."

Gordie worried about her. He had grown up with her and had only seen her cry twice; at that school dance and at her wedding. But now if she wasn't crying, she was being a recluse. She did not eat. She could not look after her kids. Toby was wasting away. That was why Gordie was staying with her. It was a month later and she was worsening quickly. But he just watched her get up and go to the bedroom she used to share with his best friend and close the door behind her. He didn't follow. He just got up and fed the youngest Chambers, a two-year-old boy named Jake who had known his daddy for only the first twenty-three months of his life.

Toby didn't come out of her room. At eight, Gordie put Jake in his crib. And then at ten, he rounded up six-year-old Claire and eight-year-old Luke to make them brush their teeth, say their prayers and get into bed.

Dexter, twelve, and Emily, the oldest at fourteen, drank hot chocolate with Gordie at the kitchen table, chatting lightly about school, friends- anything but their father. They left after awhile to watch late night TV together in the den.

Gordie knew he had to check on her. Maybe she was just sleeping, but he wanted to make sure. He pushed open her door and peered inside.

Toby was crying soundlessly, her arm over Chris' pillow. She didn't look at Gordie when he sat down on her bed beside her legs.

"Toby," he said helplessly.

The look in her eyes sunk his stomach. He'd never seen more loneliness in all his life.

"Gordie, I." She sniffled. She did not move. "I'm sorry, Gordie. You shouldn't have to be babysitting them, I just can't-" A small, miserable whimper escaped her heart. "I can't even look at my own kids. They look too much like him."

Gordie just stared at her small, waif-like form. His spitfire of a cousin was a different person now. He knew that a part of her had been buried with Chris. But it seemed like she was all gone. This was not Toby. Toby was sweet and foul mouthed and funny and obnoxious. Now she was just lying there.

"You're killing yourself," he murmured.

"I'm already dead." Her voice was flat and hollow. It was sharp and precise and it was true.

Holding her hand, Gordie said, "You have five kids that need you to stop being dead, Toby. They miss him as much as you do. You all can get through this together."

"I love them," she whispered. "You'll take care of them, won't you? Promise."

"They already have you. You're their mom."

She stared at their hands, which were still holding each other. "I miss the feeling of his hand holding mine so much.I miss the way his sparkled." She was quiet for a moment. "He loved you, you know."

"He loved you too, Toby."

"He's gone," she murmured, lonely and broken. "He's just gone. I never knew I would ever have to feel like this.I miss him so much."

"So do I," Gordie said, struggling to stop the tears from coming. "And I miss you too."