From the story, When Murray Met Helen

The way Helen had it figured, she was going to be there for Murray no matter what. Which is why she knew she had to speak her piece at his funeral. It’s also why she felt compelled to attend the reception afterwards, which was in a large hall south of downtown, hosted by the Veterans of Foreign Wars.

“I’m kinda guessin’ an older crowd,” Rick said, as he drove across the Menomonee River.
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From the story, When Murray Met Helen

When Helen shouted “wait!” into the still and sweetly incensed air of the cathedral, it couldn’t help but be disconcerting to her that Father James’s reaction was to flinch and rock backwards onto his heels. He didn’t ask a question but his expression begged for an answer, and she offered one.

“My name is Helen Morris. I’m Murray’s neighbor.”
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From the story, When Murray Met Helen

One hard thing about losing an old friend is that the world moves on anyway. And in Helen’s mind, after Murray’s sudden death, her planet was circling the sun for no obvious reason other than the inexorable mechanics of creation. So whether it was divinity or just physics, it was now spring in New Zealand while, in Oshkosh, it was snowing lightly as Helen stirred her Grapenuts while sorting pills for her mother.
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From the story, When Murray Met Helen
Murray Rierson Genault died during his breakfast on a rainy Thursday, in mid-November. He had only recently turned 88. The paramedics found him that afternoon after Glenn, the postman, paused when he heard a repeating phrase of music coming from inside the house. The needle was bumping back from a scratch on an old record: Wynton Kelly and Wes Montgomery’s beautifully melancholic treatment of “Oh, You Crazy Moon.” 1965. When no one answered the door, Glenn, sensing what had happened, called 9-1-1 on his cell phone.
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