The boy had grandparents on his mom's side, sure, but I wasn't about to see them. They hadn't claimed him after her funeral, and I didn't want to get involved with that level of devotion. They must have had lives they did cling to; the boy, I guessed, wasn't dead enough. They had their daughter's gravestone. The boy never asked to see the cemetery. I never offered to run into anyone. Maybe he forgot I had parents, or maybe he didn't.