“Actually, Evelyn,” Mom said, sitting down on one of the sofas, “the family…well…honey, this is a tough one.” She sighed and looked up at the picture hanging on the wall. It’s a photo of a group of rabbis at the Western Wall in Israel, which my dad took when he traveled there as a teenager. I don’t think Mom was actually looking at it though. She seemed a little spaced out.

Finally she spoke again. “The family was in a very bad car accident. Both of the parents were killed. But their son—their only child—well, he survived, thank God.”

“Oh,” I said, my shoulders slumping. “That’s really sad.”

My mom looked very upset. While she and Dad are always kind and respectful of the families that come to see them, most of the time they don’t get emotional. After all, people dying is part of their jobs.

They are used to it. But sometimes it gets to them. Like now.

“It is.” Mom nodded, her voice catching. “Really sad. The boy is your age, Evie. He was pretty banged up.”

“Oh?” I said again, my heart thumping hard. I didn’t like thinking about kids my age getting injured. Or sick either. But I pushed that thought away. “Is it really bad?” “Pretty bad,” she said. “But not life-threatening. Some severe bruising and broken bones, I think.”

I shivered, and not because of the air-conditioning. Just because I was around death all the time too didn’t mean I was okay with it. Losing both of your parents? The worst. I had to push that thought away. Some things were just too horrible to think about.

“Anyway, Evie…” Mom let out another sigh. “I was hoping…umm…I know it’s a lot to ask.”

“What can I do?”

She gave me a little smile. “I was hoping you’d say that. The deceased woman’s brother is coming in to make the arrangements. The son—his name is Oren—will be with him. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind spending some time with him while your father and I meet with his uncle.”

Really? She wanted me to help meet with a family? Just the son, but still. My very first family meeting.

I nodded, trying not to smile because you’re not supposed to be happy about talking to someone about their family members dying. But I couldn’t help being a little excited on the inside. It felt like I’d just been promoted from cleaner and tissue girl to junior funeral director.

“Okay,” I said, already thinking of what I would say to him. I could explain the funeral process and help him learn the special prayers, and give him the black ribbon he’d have to tear and put on his clothes and…my mind whirled. I didn’t even realize Mom was still talking.

“…you can stay with him in here while we meet with his uncle in the office. If he has any questions or wants to be involved in any way, we’ll honor that, of course,” she said. “But I imagine he’ll be more comfortable in here, where it’s quiet. And with someone his own age.” She gave me a smile. “And I bet you can answer just about any question he might have.”