Home Entertainment Game Technology Advertisement Part 2: For eight years, my parents made me leave the house every time my brother brought his fiance over; Mom said, “She comes from a good family, don’t embarrass us”; Dad added, “Just disappear for the weekend”; I did; then one weekend, I never came back; it took them four years to find out where I went.

“So locally I'm dead.”

“According to the old vital record, yes.”

“But federally…”

“Your Social Security record stayed active.”

“My driver's license?”

“Active.”

“Taxes?”

“Active.”

I laughed.

“So I was only dead where it was profitable.”

Mara's eyes hardened.

“That is one way to say it.”

Then she showed me the memorial-fund records.

The church collected $86,437 after my supposed death.

Official purpose:

medical debts, family bereavement, youth cardiac-health outreach.

Almost none went to outreach.

Transfers moved through a family account.

Then into the purchase of a lake house titled to my parents.

Avery slid the deed toward me.

I recognized the address.

Mom had once shown me photographs.

She called it:

“A little place your father and I earned after years of sacrifice.”

I stared.

“That's the vacation house.”

“Yes.”

I remembered being told I couldn't go there because it was “too small.”

Now I understood.

A dead daughter cannot vacation at the house bought with her memorial money.