“I guess … I guess maybe I’ll tell a few stories,” her father stuttered. “We all know about Carol’s great sense of humor. I think she could make a stone laugh.” There were some chuckles from the audience, and Josie felt the churning in her windpipe. If Natalie wasn’t going to drag her out and give her a stern talking to, she would have to do it on her own. “I’m leaving,” she said.

“No.”

“Yes,” Josie cried, and stomped her foot.

And then the room contracted. She felt her insides suctioned up, and she knew she was going to be sick.

She ran out of the chapel, out the front doors, and vomited on the steps. She gagged, but only bile and spit and vodka came up, and she clutched the handrail and wished she had eaten the toast her aunt offered her this morning. Someone was on the steps, and Josie retched again and then felt Natalie’s hand on her back.

“Go away,” Josie managed.

Natalie held Josie’s long hair in one hand and rubbed her back with the other.

“Please. Please just go away,” Josie said. She pushed on her stomach and spit on the steps. “If you don’t go away, I’m going to scream.”

“Scream if you want to,” Natalie said, and held her hair tightly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I don’t need you to help me.” Josie stood up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Well, too fucking bad; sit down.” Natalie pushed her to sit on the steps. “Your mother just died, Josie. You’re storming out of her funeral, you’re throwing up on the steps … and your shoes for that matter.”

Josie looked at her feet; they were speckled with yellow spittle.

“You obviously need something,” Natalie said.

“You don’t understand,” Josie said.

“Then explain.”

Josie looked at Natalie. She wanted to, wanted to have Natalie see what her mother had seen, have her grab the long coarse rope that coiled at the base of her spine and pull it up through her mouth and out like a tapeworm, make it stop eating her insides.