“So, Michelle: love your haircut!”

“Yeah. I chopped it off.”

“Cute! You see this one’s hair?”

Aunt Belinda pulled her nephew’s hood back and revealed his long black hair. It had a streak of bright blue in it.

“Nice,” laughed Michelle. She had seen pictures of him since he had left, so she wasn’t surprised by his black—and blue—hair.

“It is, isn’t it?” asked Aunt Belinda. She genuinely liked Justin’s hair.

“Yeah!”

“So, listen,” said Aunt Belinda, “I hate to do this to you two, but if you wanna hang out, you can’t do it here, ’cause Father Tom’s comin’ by to go over some funeral stuff with me for tomorrow, so why don’t you get outta here and go do somethin’ fun?”

“Huh?” asked Justin, wondering why his aunt would have wanted them to go do something fun the night before his uncle’s funeral.

“For your uncle Clair,” explained Aunt Belinda. “It’d make him so happy to know you two were out havin’ fun somewhere the night before his funeral.”

This was hard to deny. Uncle Clair was fun. And wanted people to have fun. And he wouldn’t have wanted people to stop having fun just because he was dead. But Justin didn’t feel like—and Michelle didn’t feel right about—going out and doing something fun the night before his funeral.

But before they could say so, Aunt Belinda was giving Justin his uncle Clair’s old parka. “So get goin’. And make sure he wears this, Michelle. He only had his hoodie on when I picked him up at the bus stop in Caribou. Warm enough for Portland, maybe, but not here.”

“I’ll make sure,” said Michelle.

“I’ll wear it,” said Justin simultaneously, irked that Michelle and Aunt Belinda were talking about him like he wasn’t there. He grabbed the parka and pulled it on. It smelled like Uncle Clair. And made him look tiny because Uncle Clair was a much larger man than he was. Just about all men were.

“Thank you,” said Aunt Belinda. “Now go have fun. For your uncle Clair. Please.” And she grabbed her purse and slid Justin a twenty to help them have fun and patted the old friends on the backs and practically pushed them out the back door and onto the porch and closed the door behind them.

And the next thing they knew, Michelle and Justin were on the porch, standing among all the casseroles, and taking them—and the cold, quiet northern Maine night—in. And then Michelle sighed and shrugged. “So, I guess we’re gonna go have some fun tonight, huh?” And then she laughed. She was trying to make the best of an awkward situation. She always made the best of awkward situations.

“I guess.” Justin shrugged back.

Justin and Michelle wondered why Aunt Belinda was so insistent that they go out and have some fun. They didn’t know that she wanted Justin gone so she could have some time to be sad by herself. She had been putting on a brave face because she was more worried about her nephew than she usually was. Because he seemed sad—and not just because his uncle Clair had died. This was a different, deeper sadness. And she hoped that Michelle might be able to help him through it. Because Michelle had known him since he was a kid. And people who knew you when you were a kid remind you what you used to be. And not what you’ve become. And Justin needed to remember what he used to be. Because he used to be fun. And full of joy.