“You’d better sit down,” says the neighbor of a friend, a voice I hardly recognize over the phone. On automatic pilot, I grab the nearest chair.
“S. shot herself.”
“What?” Shock throws me off balance, even with four legs and a wooden seat under me.
“S. bought a gun and shot herself last night on the patio outside the kitchen, leaving a trail of notes for B. to find while he was out walking the dog.”
I can’t keep up with all this information.