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Golden Jade Hall.
The Peony Room.
Forsythia Brown pushed open the door to the private room and saw Jane Hancock quietly nestled in the sofa.
Tyler Mamet's seventh-day memorial had passed, but Jane Hancock was still immersed in the sorrow of losing him, barely eating and drinking, looking even thinner than she had a while ago.
A sourness tinged Forsythia's heart.
It was as if a movie projector was skimming through many past scenes inside her head.
In those brash days of youth when we're blind to the taste of sorrow, during that fearless adolescence, her overt and covert competitions with Jane Hancock seemed to vanish like smoke with Tyler's passing.
"Jane."
"Forsythia, you're here! Come, take a seat," Jane said, patting the sofa next to her as she spoke.
Forsythia sat down next to Jane, looking at her with concern, "Are you okay?"
Jane managed a strained smile, "For Ned, I have to get better."
"It's good that you can think this way."
