We put stones over bones to remember. Then the snow blows like dust, and the tombstones are buried in snow. The stones, with names and dates inscribed, stand in a field surrounded by a stone wall. The bus whirs past on wet pavement. Sharon was always worried about the flu and when she couldn’t get a flu shot last year, I wasn’t too surprised to learn she ended up in the hospital. Her lung she said had collapsed. We commiserated on the phone. She was an artist and worked with chemicals.

Janet’s daughter Alison is my son Ben’s age. One night we double dated. I like Alison and Janet; they live in Los Angeles. White Oleander got Janet on Oprah. In White Oleander Ingrid is a poet who murders a worthless boyfriend. Ingrid goes to prison leaving her daughter Astrid adrift. Astrid makes her way through a cross-section of Los Angeles society. That’s the brains of this excellent novel. But then the book concludes with feminists somehow freeing Ingrid from prison and Astrid falling in love, moving to New York and living happily ever after. Do such happy endings bring tears to Oprah’s eyes? I missed that episode. There’s also a movie….