by Melissa Benton Barker Gia Oris The Closing My real estate agent, Dana, liked to act the mother hen, as if she were trying to soften the fact that my personal tragedy was her sale. “Eat something, Vee,” she said. “You don’t want to go through all those documents on an empty stomach.” She pulled a granola bar out of her shoulder bag and held it out to me. She probably wouldn’t have called it a granola bar. It was the fancy kind, the kind they display by the cash register i