Olive Kitteridge

Henry Thibodeau, it turned out, had had a good life insurance policy, so at least there was that. The relief that he just felt over Denise’s note, that she is glad for the life that unfolded before her, gives way suddenly, queerly, into an odd sense of loss, as if something significant has been taken from him. “Olive,” he says. The truth was that she and Henry had never told anyone, except their friends up the river, Bill and Bunny Newton. There was still no answer, and finally Rebecca understood she’d been put on hold.