I peeked in through the office window. The three of them were sitting at the table, paperwork spread everywhere.

Thankful that Mr. Silver had his back to me, I did a little wave to try to catch my dad’s eye. It worked. His eyebrows went up—he was asking me if everything was okay.

I shook my head. No, everything was most definitely not okay.

He made his excuses and came out. “Evie?” he said, softly closing the office door behind him.

That’s when I burst into tears.

Of course, Dad is very experienced with weeping people. He put his arm around me and led me away from the office and into the chapel. “Evie? What happened?” he asked quietly as soon as we were inside. “Where’s Oren?”

“Locked in the bathroom,” I said, pointing in the direction of the quiet room.

I’d been prepared for Oren to be teary, so I had a packet of tissues in my pocket. I tugged two squares out and shoved them against my eyes before trying to explain.

“Remember how you said I’d be a good funeral director?”

“Yes,” Dad said.

“Yeah, well, you were wrooooooooooong.” That last word got stretched out because I was crying again.

“I don’t think so,” Dad said as he pulled me into a hug.

I worried about slobbering all over his clean white shirt, but I couldn’t help it. After I calmed down, I pulled out of his arms and mopped up the rest of my tears.

“Tell me what happened,” he said, tugging me over to a pew, where we both sat down.

Once I was done explaining, I took a few deep breaths and crumpled the damp tissues in my fists.

“Grief is a difficult thing,” Dad said. “And losing a parent—let alone two—is life-changing at any age. But for someone so young, well, I can’t imagine how awful it must be.”

“And I just made it worse,” I said.

Dad smiled sadly. “You may not have helped, but I doubt you made it worse. Look, Oren isn’t in a place right now where anyone can say anything that will help. He needs to work through his grief, and all we can do is be there for whatever he needs. Even if what he needs is space and time to sort it out himself.”

It made sense, but I still felt like I’d messed up. “And not some random girl who will talk his ear off.”

Dad nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry to say you’re probably right there, Evie. But you have to remember this isn’t about you. Part of being a good funeral director—and even a good friend—is knowing that someone may not want to be consoled. They may not welcome your words of support, and you need to respect that. Someone else’s grief is not for you to solve. Let Oren grieve in his own way.”

I had wanted to help so badly. I thought about how hard I had tried to get him to talk. How I’d kept thinking how hard it was for me.