In the days following her grandfather’s death, Caroline Donovan could not shake him. Images of him flooded her mind while she was grading papers or shielding her face against a whip of late autumn wind, walking from the university to the T station. His stubbled face from below when she was child, the one arm draped over the back of his kitchen chair, his frame hunched beside the nursing home window, fists involuntarily clenched until the fingernails dug into chafed, bleeding palms—these hid in memory, and then sprang-up.