So that was an improvement.

Eight

A couple of weeks after the funeral, I was at the dining-room table, surrounded by my craft supplies as usual. I was getting nothing done though. My meadow picture remained unfinished. I was completely uninspired. I’d spent hours and hours on it already, so why did I suddenly want to crumple it up and toss it in the trash?

Ever since I’d given Oren that special pack of tissues and he’d blown me off, quilling felt pointless. I had gone to the shiva house the night of the funeral, but he hadn’t even come out of his room. Mom had reminded me that he was having a rough week and that he just needed time. Of course he was. I knew that. The worst week imaginable.

But I wanted to do something! I wanted to help him and make everything better for him.

How did my parents handle these feelings of helplessness?

I didn’t even want to look at my project anymore. But if I threw it out, my parents would find out and want to know why. Instead I packed everything into my big plastic bin. I’d figure out a way to get rid of it later. I was about to take it up to my room when my dad came in.

“What’s up, Evie?”

I shrugged. “Nothing much.”

“Well, in that case, I have some errands to run. Care to join me?”

“What kind of errands?” I asked suspiciously. The last time I had gone to “run errands” with him, I’d gotten stuck at the car license-renewal place with him for what felt like eternity.

“To the garden store and the cemetery to drop off some paperwork.”

I scrunched up my face. I mean, I like my dad and all, but neither of those things sounded fun.

He raised an eyebrow and added, “Oh, and a quick stop at The Big Scoop. Would that help persuade you?”

Ice cream? Why yes, that certainly did help. But I had to be sure. “No car-license place?”

“Nope,” he said. “Not this time.”

I was still pretending to make up my mind when he took the bin from my hands and placed it on the table. Then he put an arm around my shoulders and turned me toward the front door. “Come on. I’m restless, and I feel like ice cream. It’s been slow next door—a good thing, of course—but I’ve caught up on my paperwork, the roast is in the oven, and I don’t have much to do.”

Neither did I, since we hadn’t had a funeral since the one for Oren’s parents. When there are no funerals, there’s not much to do over there, so I have to do extra chores around the house to earn my wage.

It is sort of weird that while we don’t want people to die, when no one does we have no work to do. But I guess that’s the life of a funeral director—you never know when you’ll be busy. You have to be ready at any time. Sometimes Mom and Dad get calls in the middle of the night and have to get out of bed, put on their suits and go to work.