I smiled back at her. “That’s true.” I did know a lot about funerals. I might not be allowed to do stuff, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t prepare for the day when I would start working as a real funeral director. I couldn’t wait to really help people and do something, not just sit back and watch. Yes, tissues were important, but I could do more. I wanted so badly to do more.

“Thank you, Evie,” Mom said. “That will be really helpful.”

“Of course,” I said, closing up the little fridge and standing up. I brushed some dust off my shorts. “I’ll do a quick vacuum first and then I’ll go get changed.”

Mom got up off the couch and sighed again. “I feel so terrible for this boy. One day all is well, and the next, his entire life is changed.” She reached up and adjusted the picture, even though it wasn’t crooked. “I’m sure he could use a friend more than anything right now.”

“Okay,” I said, because it was the answer Mom expected. But I had no intention of being this boy’s friend. Nope. Never again.

What had happened to him was awful. Of course, I’d help him. Being a funeral director—even a junior one—meant I would always help out someone who was grieving. But that was it. No more.

Mom gave me one of her looks. “Evie, I know I don’t need to remind you to be respectful, kind and on your best behavior, right?”

I rolled my eyes. “You mean like you just did?”

Mom smirked. “Right. And maybe…”

She paused for so long that I had to say, “Maybe what?”

“Er…well…maybe…don’t talk his ear off?”

I lifted an eyebrow.

She lifted one of hers back at me.

“Fine,” I said with a sigh, because okay, yes, in my family I am sort of known as a talker. A big talker. Like, a nonstop talker.

Out of nowhere Mom grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me into a bear hug.

“Urk,” I gurgled when she squeezed me really tight. “Mom!”

“Shush. Indulge your mother.”

Another thing about being the daughter of funeral directors? You get used to a lot of random and spontaneous hugs.

Three

I was nervous. Not because this was my first time helping out with a family at the funeral home. Even though it was.

Okay, maybe that was part of it. A biggish part. But not all of it.

Mostly I was worried that I’d say something wrong. Yeah, I am a talker. And I sometimes get rambly, especially if I’m nervous. And then when I realize I’m rambling, I get even more nervous and then, well, you see where I’m going with this. Because here I am rambling. About rambling.

Anyway, there I sat in the funeral home office with my parents, waiting for Oren and his uncle to arrive.

“Evie!” Mom said. For the third time. Because I just couldn’t seem to stop my leg from bouncing, making the chair squeak.