It had to be a sign. I pulled the packet from my pocket and took the two steps over to him. “Sorry for your loss,” I said. I’d said these words a million times before, the only thing you can say when you don’t know what to say. But I’d never meant them so much as right now.

He didn’t nod. Or smile. Or do anything but stare.

I wanted to fidget. The words started to bubble up. But I remembered the previous day’s disaster and bit my lip, determined to keep my mouth shut. I held out the packet. “This is for you.”

His eyes dropped to my outstretched hand. Without even looking at it, he took the packet and shoved it into his pocket. Then turned and walked toward the quiet room.

Seven

Dad had been right when he said it would be a large crowd.

After he and Mom had settled the family in the quiet room, Dad went outside to help Syd direct cars. They were starting to pour into the lot.

The cars all had to be parked in the right order, so that after the service the hearses and the limousine had a clear path out of the parking lot, leading the procession to the cemetery. Dad and Syd handed out the special funeral signs for people to put on their cars, as well as flyers with directions to the cemetery for anyone from out of town.

I took my position to the right of the entrance at the rear of chapel. Nate was on the left. We greeted people solemnly and handed out the tissues and kippahs. The pews began to fill up from the back, the mourners chatting in hushed tones as they waited for the service to begin.

I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but more than once I overhead the phrases “such a shame,” “gone too soon” and, more than anything else, “that poor boy.”

Of course, they were talking about Oren.

“…couldn’t his grandparents take him?” I heard as a couple of ladies approached. My ears perked up.

“One set’s here, but neither of them is in good health, and they are in a care home. The mother’s parents and another brother live in Israel. I’m sure that Jared will do fine, although it will be a big adjustment for them both.”

I guessed that Jared was Mr. Silver—Oren’s uncle.

“Is he at least dating anyone? That boy needs a mother.”

“He took out the Feinberg girl a few—”

“Excuse me?”

Uh-oh. I had totally zoned out. One of the ladies was glaring at me. “I’m sorry!” I mumbled, handing her some tissues. “Uh…and for your loss!” I added. She tutted at me and proceeded into the chapel. My face was burning. I concentrated hard on my duties after that, blocking out all the distracting conversations, until it was time for the service to begin.

The chapel filled quickly—nearly every pew held people squished tightly together, and a few even stood at the back. At exactly one o’clock the rabbi entered the chapel from a side door and stepped up onto the raised platform behind the podium. The stragglers rushed in, and the crowd quickly hushed.