Years later, after Thomas jumped, Ellen had no qualms about pitching her husband’s cassettes in the garbage with the kitchen scraps and cigarette butts. Grace managed to keep Thomas’s field jacket hidden in a closet nether region, but Ellen eventually found it and wears it still like a bathrobe, its hem stringy from her nervous-tic fingering, its green dye mottled from so many wash cycles. Grace often wonders about the act of dressing in a dead man’s clothing. If this is how Ellen forgets Thomas. By folding him into the everyday, just something to hang in a closet, throw on a chair. Or if wearing the jacket reanimates him somehow whenever she puts it on.