“Thanks,” I say.

“Is it over?” He nods toward the church behind me, squinting.

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t stay?”

“They’re looking at him now. Inside his casket. It seems really barbaric. Why would anyone want to do that?” I ask. “It doesn’t seem respectful. It seems . . . the opposite.”

“You have a bone to pick with Christianity now?” He looks slightly amused. I would’ve suspected he was not shattered by it if I didn’t know better. But I do know better, and this is Joe’s go-to behavior. He wears sarcasm like armor. The opposite of his sweet late brother.

“No,” I say. “I just don’t understand the idea of looking at a dead person.”

“Better thee than me.” Joe flicks his cigarette sideways, blowing smoke in the opposite direction. “Humans have a weird fascination with death. You should know that better than anyone.”

He is referring to my tombstone sketches. To my job as a tour guide in Salem. Now that I think about it, I surround myself with death a lot.

I haven’t touched the drawing pad since our kiss, and I’m sure he hasn’t written a word either. Whatever flame ran between Joe and me has been doused since the night Dom died.

“How are you dealing with all this?” he asks.

I take a drag of my cigarette and cough out the smoke. This is horrible. Why would anyone do this willingly? A few times a day too? It feels like french-kissing an ashtray.

“I don’t,” I admit. “I . . . I don’t even feel human. I just exist. You?”

“I have Mom and Dad to take care of. Keeps me busy and going. When you feel like people depend on you, you have a reason to push through.”

I pretend to take a few more drags of the cigarette, just to save face. He looks at me, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Are you referring to life, or . . . ?”

“Smoking. But both, really. You have to let it hit the bottom of your lungs. If you keep it in your mouth, you might get mouth cancer.”

“Because lung cancer is preferable?” I cough out some more.

“That’s it.” He plucks the cigarette from my lips and snaps it in two. “You’re killing yourself, bro.”

The way he mimics Pippa so perfectly, getting her Valley Girl drawl just right, makes me ache both for my best friend and for the time Before. Before Dom. Before Joe. When Mom was alive and Pippa and I were attached at the hip and my biggest worry was whether I was asexual or not.

“What are you going to do now?” Joe asks. He feels it’s goodbye because it is goodbye. There is nothing to keep us in touch now. Dom is gone. Our one excuse to see each other has been taken from us.

“I don’t know,” I say. “You?”