A little girl sits all alone. People swirl around, talking quietly, and she is alone. A tall man in black talks somberly with other people in black. He sees her. He pulls his lips back in disapproval.

            Another tall man sees her, too. For a moment he’s shocked. Who lets a little girl sit alone crying at the funeral of her mother? At a time like this, a child should be held, comforted. He walks swiftly toward her. “Miss Parker.” She looks up, startled, maybe a little afraid. He takes her hand. She turns to him, and he holds her.