Of course, Oren’s situation was a lot different. Also, I got the feeling he hadn’t been back “home” since the accident. All his friends were still in his old town. Did that mean none had come to visit him?

Maybe he hadn’t just lost his parents, but all his friends too. Or maybe, like me, Oren didn’t have any friends to begin with. Not to say I have never had any friends. But since the thing with Sam, and with all the jerks at school, I’m better off without any now.

I told Oren all about Nate’s soccer accident and how after a kick he’d come down wrong and snapped the bones in his lower leg.

Oren cringed, especially when I told him how they said a bone had even poked out of his skin. For some reason, it’s one of Nate’s favorite stories to tell. How gross it must have been to see his own bone sticking out like that. I’m glad I didn’t see it, because I would have puked for sure.

When I was done with Oren’s arm, we grabbed a ball cap for him and Mom’s big floppy gardening hat for me from the coat closet and headed outside into the sunshine.

I took him around to the front flower beds, and we got to work. Well, he got to work. I went to the shed to get the rake and the shovel thing that I use to dig up weeds. When I returned, he already had a pile of yanked-out weeds beside him.

“Oh, I’d better get the wheelbarrow,” I said and returned to the shed. I had to move the hose and the bag of mulch to get to the wheelbarrow. Then I noticed a giant bag of fertilizer. I took some time to read all the information on the label, even though it wasn’t very interesting.

By the time I got back to Oren, his pile had become a mountain.

“Wow,” I said. “You’re doing great! Even with just one good hand!” He gave me a shrug. I gathered up all the weeds and put them in the wheelbarrow.

I figured I couldn’t let him do it all on his own and was about to kneel down beside him to help (really, I was!) when he wiped off his forehead with his plastic-covered arm.

“Thirsty?”

He nodded.

“I’ll be right back,” I said.

Instead of getting us plain water, I took the time to mix up some lemonade, getting the sugar just right, and poured it into two big glasses with lots of ice. Nate came into the kitchen then, so I made him a glass too.

I followed him back to his room to remind him that he needed to update the website.

“Mom hasn’t sent me the details yet,” he said as he sat at his computer desk and pulled up the funeral home website. “But I guess I can start a post. Do you know anything about the person who died?”