“I should go,” Jared said. But he didn’t move.

“No,” I said. “I want to. And…uh…I might owe him an apology.”

“Does this have something to do with what happened at the movies?” Dad asked.

“Um, maybe? Sort of,” I admitted. This was not the time to get into it. “Anyway, I’ll go. It’s not far. You two can stay here.”

Jared nodded.

“Come on in,” Dad said to him. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” He led Jared toward the kitchen while I went down the five stairs to the side door.

I had one sandal on when I heard Dad say my name.

“Yeah?”

“Call if you need a pickup,” he said, adding, “Don’t worry. I’ll bring the car.”

I smiled up at him. “Thanks, Dad.”

Twenty-Five

I jogged most of the way to the cemetery. When I got to the parking lot, I had to stop for a moment to catch my breath.

I saw Sarah standing at her front window. The curtains were pulled back and tucked behind her. When she noticed me, she pointed out at the cemetery.

I gave her a little wave and started toward Oren, who was sitting on the grass beside his parents’ graves. The sod and dirt hadn’t quite settled yet, so there were still two low humps where they were buried. Sarah and Richard watered the new grass often, so it might even be wet and squishy. I hoped Oren hadn’t found that out the hard way.

I picked up two smooth oval stones at the edge of the parking lot and tucked them into my palm. I walked slowly toward him, trying to figure out what to say.

There weren’t any headstones marking his parents’ graves yet—there wouldn’t be for a while. There wasn’t a big rush. Dad had told me once that Jewish custom says you have a whole year to put them in.

When the headstones were ready to be placed, there would be another small ceremony, called an unveiling. Friends and family would come, the rabbi would say a few prayers, people would place little rocks on top of the headstones, and then everyone would go to someone’s house to eat lunch.

When I got closer to Oren, even though he was looking down at the ground, I could see that his face was blotchy. It didn’t seem he was still crying though.

“Hey,” I said softly.

Startled, he looked up. When he saw it was me, his eyes went back down to his hands.

“Mind if I sit with you?”

He shrugged.

Thankfully, the grass was dry.

Some people might think it’s weird to sit in a cemetery, but I don’t. Maybe because I’ve been here a million times. It is quiet and weirdly peaceful. Some people walk their dogs down the paths like it’s a regular park. And, of course, some people come to the cemetery to visit the ones they’ve lost.

One lady—Mom said her name is Mrs. Carlin—comes every week and sits on a bench next to her husband’s grave. She pulls her knitting out of her purse and just sits and knits for an hour or two.