he was standing before the grave of a woman who 'd died in 1924 at the age of thirty , the same age his mom had been when she 'd died giving birth to him , and because it was autumn and the leaves were falling all around them , because the world was a blur of red and brown and orange , because he had no one to talk to-had never had anyone to talk to-and because emma was here and his dad was n't ( was never really there , even when he was ) , because of all this peter turned to tell emma about his mother , about the hole that had been torn in the map of his life , like a town he 'd never had the chance to visit , like all the towns in the world he 'd never seen and maybe never would .