“We brought muffins,” said Constance. Tuesday’s eyes fell to the pink box this woman was cradling, tenderly, as if it were a sleeping child, in her arms. “Vincent loved muffins,” Constance continued. She looked down, and Tuesday felt palpable relief. Constance Arches was carrying an extraordinary amount of pain. That layer of ice was a necessary containment; if her insides got out, she would immolate. “He loved brunch,” Lila said gently. “Minimum effort,” said Constance. “Maximum enjoyment,” finished Lila. A heavy silence settled over the room, thick as dust. Quiet enough to hear Dex’s straw
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