Becca Smith squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the dizziness to pass. And hoped this horrible day was nearly over.

"Are you okay?"

She opened her eyes to see Rick Jensen's concerned gaze. During the funeral, the presence of her husband's best friend and business partner had had a calming effect on her.

But now, Becca longed to scream and keep on screaming, until everyone quit tiptoeing around the fact that Gabe was dead and her life would never be "okay" again. Then she was sure the muted conversations around her would end and her friends and family would scuttle back to their unscathed lives. Their new year would soon return to normal.

The urge to throw casserole dishes and rented glass-ware against the wall was almost overwhelming, as if the shards raining down on the tile floor could convey how brittle and broken she felt.

But Becca held it together long enough to nod. Somehow, she would make it through the wake.

"Have you eaten today?"

"I—I think so." It was a lie. But she knew Rick would never understand that her throat constricted every time she took a bite.

He touched her arm. "How about if I fix you a plate? You look like you're ready to drop."

"That would be…nice." She understood his need to make things better for her, knew that her grief reminded him of his own loss—the two men had been as close as brothers. And she wished with her whole heart that food was the answer. But it wasn't.

When Rick handed her a heaping plate a couple of minutes later, Becca fought a wave of nausea. But she obediently pushed the food around with her fork.

"You've got to eat something. For them." Rick nodded toward her three children: sixteen-year-old Maya, ten-year-old A