I flipped myself over. Our faces were close, but we weren’t touching anymore. I nodded. “Yes. My parents drove up right away. A few hours later, they were there. And I remember we hugged, but they weren’t real hugs. You know what I mean?”

Jasper nodded. “I do. I know exactly.”

“They were numb hugs,” I said. “Hugs made of . . . I don’t know . . . sadness and glass. Like we were all afraid to break each other. And they were dragging the lake by then, and while I was in my cabin, packing, they found him. His . . . body. It wasn’t him anymore, not really. And so, yeah, we came home. And buried him.”

“Just like that?” asked Jasper.

“It’s a Jewish thing,” I said. “You’re supposed to bury people right away, get them into the ground quick.”

“How quick?”

“Too quick. Or that was how it felt. To me.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Jasper.

“Yeah, and then all these people came over to our house and brought food. So much food. When you’re Jewish and someone dies, everyone comes to visit for a few days, and you have to be polite. My grandparents were here a bunch, and the neighbors and people from school. But then they all went away again and we were left behind in this house that felt the same, only not the same. And nobody thought to eat, or clean out the fridge, and the food went bad. Because nobody thought to throw anything away. So then the house smelled like death. Literally. Like rotting things.”

“That’s . . . awful,” said Jasper. “I didn’t know that either.”

I nodded at her. “It’s the most awful thing. To be so . . . empty. And the whole house was just gross. And it was summer, so there was no school, and eventually my parents went back to work. So there I was in this house completely full of rotting food, alone. One day I went into the kitchen and threw everything away. Every single thing in the fridge. The ketchup and the olives and the old box of baking soda that’s been there my entire life. Even the ice trays. I dumped it all in the trash outside.”

“Oh, Leah.”

“That was when they made an appointment for me with a therapist. After I threw away the ice trays. Like it was some cry for help or something, cleaning out the fridge. But you know what? I don’t think it was. It was just gross, and Mom and Dad were being depressed and lazy, and not talking at all, about anything. They had turned into ghosts, and ghosts don’t clean out refrigerators. Someone had to do it. I’d do it again.”

“I would too,” said Jasper, nodding. “I’d do the exact same thing.”

“I know you would,” I said.