"Grief is awful like that," Peggy says, absently tugging at the stitch at her trousers as she tries to figure out how to say this next part without being overtly hopeful. "I thought I had lost someone, too, but he's here. He arrived out of the fountain the same as the rest of us did."

"Perhaps your brother might arrive," she says, trying to be matter-of-fact rather than endlessly hopeful.