“Sorry!” I muttered, hooking my foot around the chair leg to keep it still.

With clammy hands, I smoothed my dark gray skirt. I was also wearing a black top and matching cardigan, my standard funeral outfit. Respectful, plus it would keep me warm in the very air-conditioned funeral home. My black shoes were starting to pinch my toes.

Finally the front door opened with a soft whoosh.

Mom and Dad exchanged a nod as they got up from their seats. I stood up too. My left shoe was definitely getting tight.

Dad came around the desk and gave me an encouraging smile as he put one hand on my shoulder and guided me toward the lobby. Not that he needed to, but it was nice. Somehow he always seems to know when people need encouragement or comforting—that’s probably what makes him such a good funeral director.

I noticed the tall man standing there first. He was probably younger than Dad, but in some ways he looked older. There were dark, puffy bags under his red-rimmed eyes, and it looked like he hadn’t shaved. His shoulders sagged and his clothes were rumpled, like he’d slept in them. Maybe he had.

He didn’t just look old, he looked exhausted and grief-stricken. I don’t like seeing people like that—looking their worst. Even after attending as many funerals as I have (twenty-four), it still makes me sad.

Beside him stood the boy, who I already knew was Oren Katzman. He was about my height, but that was pretty much all I could tell about him. I couldn’t see his eyes because his head was bowed, his longish dark hair falling forward and covering his face.

“Mr. Silver,” Dad said, taking his hand off my shoulder and extending it toward the man. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Mr. Silver nodded, and Dad turned to Oren. “And my deepest condolences to you as well, Oren.” He didn’t offer his hand to him, probably because Oren’s right arm was in a sling. I noticed that the cast, which covered most of his hand and went right up to his elbow, was impossibly clean and white. Brand-new.

The boy nodded.

“Oren,” Mom said gently. “This is our daughter, Evelyn. She’ll take you to the quiet room while we work out the arrangements with your uncle.”

I held my breath. Oren finally lifted his head. It was then that I saw he had two black eyes and a jagged line of stitches along his bruised right cheek.

I swallowed a gasp as my stomach lurched. Not because his injuries were gross, but because they made everything feel very real. This boy had been in a horrible car wreck. This boy had lost both of his parents. This wasn’t a movie. This was real life.

Oren didn’t look at me but instead fixed his eyes on his uncle.

“Oh,” Mr. Silver said. “Can you tell me where your bathroom is, please?”

Dad pointed down the hall. “Second door on the right.”