The next day I slept in until eleven, showered, and got dressed. I stayed in my room until it was time to go, then I walked out and got in the van before anyone else did. No one spoke to me.

The funeral was held at a small church near her home. Before the service they had an open casket viewing. I climbed out of the van and walked inside, apart from my parents. I followed the signs to a small room.

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw, but I don’t know how I could have been. There was Grace in a wooden casket. The inside was lined with pink satin. She looked like she was sleeping. My heart felt as if it were being torn apart.

A short, stout woman with black hair stood next to the casket. She looked frail and her eyes were puffy. I knew who she was and I immediately hated her. I hated her for her weakness and her betrayal of her own daughter. Now she stood by her side. I wanted to shout at her. Hypocrite! Why weren’t you at her side when she needed you?

My parents stood in line and walked up to the casket. Joel held my mother’s hand. He was crying. My parents paid their condolences to Grace’s mother, which only made me angrier. They deserved each other. A party of traitors.

I kept my distance, standing at the side of the room torn between my hate and unspeakable sorrow. I wanted to wake her and run away with her, but Grace wasn’t there. Grace was life and spirit and there was none of that here. It was just a body in a box. Grace had gone someplace else. I wished I could have gone with her.

Sometime later the minister said they would be closing the casket and if anyone wanted to give the deceased their last regards now was the time. A few people walked to the casket and kissed Grace. Then her mother fell on her, crying, “My baby. My darling baby.”

Everyone in the room watched, moved by the emotional outburst. Many of them started to cry as well. A man in a suit comforted her. I just stood there, watching the drama unfold like bad theater.

I didn’t sit by my family for the service. I sat alone staring at the back of a pew while people who didn’t really know anything about Grace talked about her as if they suddenly cared.

As we were leaving the funeral I felt a hand touch my shoulder. I turned around. It was Grace’s mother.

“Are you Eric?”

I just glared at her.