He shook his head.

“Right, okay, well, there’s a bathroom in here too, if you need it,” I said, pointing at a door on the other side of the room. “Which obviously you don’t, since you just used the one down the hall. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Ugh, Evie! Stop talking! How could you be comfortable when your world had just been ripped apart? Not to mention what had happened to his body. It was hard not to stare at his injuries and wonder about them. Mom had said broken bones. I wondered what else besides his arm and his face was injured.

I took a seat at the other end of the couch. I was definitely going to have to figure out better things to say to families if I was going to have any hope of becoming a funeral director.

For the longest time, the only sound in the blue room was the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the far wall. I had to say something.

“I’m sorry I mentioned the funeral before,” I said, trying to remember the things I’d heard my parents say. “This is a very difficult time for you, I know. I mean, I obviously don’t know because I haven’t lost my parents, but I…um…I’m…my deepest condolences.”

Oren looked down toward his lap and shrugged.

“You can talk to me about it if you want,” I said. “I’m a good listener.”

He didn’t nod or even look at me.

“I’m…well, I’m not an official funeral director yet, but I will be someday. I know all about grief and can help you.” His silence was starting to make me nervous again. “So yeah, you can talk to me. About how you’re feeling. Or, you know, if you have any questions about anything. I know most of what goes on in the building. And like I said, grief is sort of my thing.”

Still nothing.

“Or you could, you know, write stuff down. If you don’t want to actually talk. Want me to get a pen and paper?”

He finally looked at me. It was not a friendly look. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. At least now I could see his eyes. They were greenish brown—hazel, I guess. The bruises and cuts around them stood out more than the color of his irises though.

I realized he was still staring at me. It was getting so awkward. We both dropped our eyes.

We sat, heads hanging down, on either end of the sofa for a long time while the clock ticked. And ticked. And ticked some more. Like it was counting down to eternity. I suddenly felt like ripping the clock off the wall and tossing it out the back door like a Frisbee.

“Anyway,” I said breaking the extremely uncomfortable silence. “You can call me Evie. I know my mother introduced me as Evelyn, and that is my name, but I prefer to be called Evie. Not Evil, as some kids at school like to call me. But they’re mostly jerks and—”