Tears sprung to my own eyes. Oren was clinging to my mom like he was never going to let her go.

“Evie,” Dad said softly, putting his hand on my shoulder. “C’mon, let’s give them a minute.”

We left the kitchen and went into the dining room. Then Dad said, “Why don’t you run upstairs and tell your brother to wash up for lunch. And you can tell him I have the details of the funeral for him to put up on the website.”

“When is it?” I asked.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Her family is in town, so they can do it before Shabbat.”

“Right,” I said. You can’t have funerals on the Shabbat, which started Friday at sundown.

Dad gave me a nudge toward the stairs. “Go on. Get your brother. I’ll make sure Oren’s okay.”

I glanced toward the kitchen. I heard more sobbing. Poor guy, I thought. It made me absolutely, 100 percent sure that Oren definitely wasn’t ready to see everything that went on next door.

Which, to be honest, was a relief.

Fourteen

The next day was the funeral for the ninety-four-year-old lady from the care home. Her name was Mrs. Rubin and, according to her obituary, she was the loving wife of Herbert, mother of four, grandmother to seven and great-grandmother to three. She loved to knit and play mah-jongg and was a longtime volunteer for Meals on Wheels. She seemed like a nice lady, and I felt a bit sad that I never got to meet her.

At dinner the night before, Dad had told us this funeral would be a large one with lots of mourners, but that the family had decided they wanted it to be graveside only. The whole service would be at the cemetery. Mrs. Rubin’s family didn’t want a big, somber event inside a building on what was looking to be a beautiful summer day. Mrs. Rubin’s daughter had said her mom would have liked that—to have everyone gather in the sunshine to say their final farewells.

Having her funeral at the cemetery meant there wouldn’t be a service in the funeral home at all, so I wouldn’t have to be there. In other words, I had the day off. It also meant that by the time Oren arrived at my place, my dad would already be next door, getting everything ready for the funeral, including putting Mrs. Rubin’s casket into the hearse so he and Syd could drive it over to the graveyard.

I was just finishing my orange juice when there was a knock at the door. I looked up at the clock—it was nearly nine already. A glance through the peephole told me what I already knew. It was Oren at the door. He was carrying something in his hands, covered with tinfoil.

I opened the door and waved at Jared as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Hi! Good morning, Oren,” I said.

As usual, he nodded.

“What’s this?” I asked, pointing at what he was carrying. I stepped back so he could come inside.