“The funeral director’s name is Steve Steller,” her aunt said. Steffi had woken Josie early and persuaded her to come help make the funeral arrangements. Josie had tried to get out of it, but her aunt had insisted. “Your father’s been a mess,” she said, “sitting in your mother’s closet, not washing the dishes because she might have eaten off one. Do this one thing for him,” and Josie had caved.

“Steve Steller. Sounds like a car salesman,” Josie said.

Her aunt sighed. “Think about what color the flowers should be.”

“Black.”

Her aunt gave her a sharp look. “Be good.”

They walked up the stairs and opened the tinted glass doors. Inside, the anteroom was dark, and because Josie had not taken off her sunglasses, the funeral director seemed to materialize out of thin air. He grabbed her hand, and Josie jumped.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” he said and pressed first her and then her aunt’s hand firmly in both of his.

He was a skinny, balding man who had obviously been meticulously taught what to say and how to say it. He led them to his office, and Josie sat in the overstuffed chair and thought how carefully someone had planned this room. The chairs were a warm shade of rose, and the arms seemed to enfold her. There was no desk; instead, they sat around a low coffee table that held a variety of glossy brochures and a vase of cheerful-looking pink lilies. The flowers matched the chairs that matched the trim of the wallpaper; even the funeral director’s tie was a gooey pink.

“As you know,” he said, “we have a variety of packages to help make this difficult time easier.”

Josie bit the inside of her cheek but took the brochure he handed her. On the cover was a collage of photographs, mostly of grandparents and children and flowers and ducks. There were no coffins or black-clad guests dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs, and Josie had a strong urge to ask Steve Steller what package the ducks and children came with, but she was attempting to behave, so she skimmed the brochure trying to discern the differences between the Serenity, Devotional, and Harmony packages.

“There will be quite a few people,” her aunt said. “How many does your chapel seat?”

“One hundred and fifty.”

Her aunt nodded and flipped the pages of her brochure.

Josie listened to him talk about organists and limousine services and bronze memorial tablets, but when he pulled out the catalog of caskets and suggested either the Aurora or the Majestic, Josie’s palms began to sweat, and when he asked whether it would be an open or closed casket, the room seemed to grow fifty degrees hotter.

“Excuse me,” she said, and walked outside.