The funeral was Sunday afternoon, the same time as the graduation that Harry was missing. Despite Harry telling him not to, Paul Roman skipped the graduation ceremony as well, and drove up to Maine. He arrived just before noon. Harry was in his bedroom, the window open, and heard the car brake sharply on the driveway. He met Paul at the doorway. Alice was out back, cutting flowers, and Harry desperately wanted a little time alone with Paul before he had to change into his suit and attend his father’s service. He took him straight to his room.

“You have any idea what happened?” Paul asked, as soon as the door was shut.

“You mean, how did he die?”

“Yeah. Did he just trip?” Harry had met Paul their freshman year, when they both had single dorm rooms on the same hall. Paul’s second question to Harry, after asking his name, had been: “You sleep with boys or girls or both?”

Harry, flustered into honesty, replied, “Girls. In theory, though, not in reality. Yet.”

“All right. Let’s go find some. Girls for you, and boys for me.”

They’d stayed best friends through four years of college, building a group around them. Well, Paul had built the group, being one of those people who attract friends as easily as a flower draws bees. Harry felt privileged to be in his company, and sometimes overshadowed. Paul was funny and gregarious, filterless at times, but always knowing what to say and what to do. Privately, Harry pictured Paul as a fellow soldier of the social realm who would draw enemy fire in his direction so that Harry could make small incremental advances, trench by trench.

“There’s going to be an autopsy,” Harry said to Paul, now sitting on the edge of the bedroom’s one chair. “But he probably just fell. Just a freak accident.”

“You don’t think anyone else was involved?”

“What do you mean? Like someone pushed him?”

“I don’t know, I’m just wondering.”

“I think it’s more likely that maybe he had some sort of heart attack, or a stroke, and that caused him to fall off the path and hit his head. It was a pretty steep drop.”

“What does Alice say?”

“I think she thinks it was a medical condition. She thought it would be good to find out. For me, that is, in case it’s something that’s genetic.”

“Oh, right,” Paul said, then added, “So what are you going to do? I mean, you going to stay here?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’ll stay for the summer. I can’t just up and leave Alice, and she’s already asked me to help out in the store. Honestly, I have no idea.”

“Don’t figure it out today.” Paul unzipped the backpack he’d brought up from his car. “You want a drink?”