If she's not here to want it, I don't know how to want it for myself.

When Harold leaves, I try to distract myself by making something to eat. I haven't eaten much, and Maggie's niggling voice in the back of my brain tells me I should. Except I don't know how to cook. Maggie always did it. I try to make a dinner like she would, with meat and corn and applesauce—skipping the potatoes because I'm nowhere near confident enough to try.

A packet of paperwork Harold left sits on the dining table, taunting me. A reminder that the countdown has started. X-days until I can say goodbye to my home.

The meat is burnt to a crisp. The corn is watery.

I can't get the lid to the applesauce off. The jar ends up on the ground and I'm kneeling there amongst the broken pieces, hysterical, in tears. I'm crying over applesauce, but none of the things that matter.

What is wrong with me?

CHAPTER 3

Corey hasn't written back.

I spend my evenings staring at the phone, contemplating calling just to hear someone's voice who isn't Harold or Penny. I wonder if she'll call while I'm out of the house for the funeral.

It's the first time I've stepped outside since graduation other than to go to the shelter. I shower and scrub myself clean, comb my typically messy curls back as best as I can and put on the black slacks and white button-up shirt Maggie bought for me to wear to a Christmas event last year. I hate it, but she liked it, and today will be the last day I can do anything for her.

Harold offered to drive me to the service, but I refused. I want an easy way out if I need to leave, and being tethered to someone for a ride home won't help.

I should probably cut Harold a break. He's only trying to help, and I think he's a genuinely nice guy concerned for my well-being. But he's not a friend, and he's not family. I don't even know what I'm feeling, so how am I supposed to answer his worried glances and questions with anything other than a shrug and I'm fine.

I am fine. I'm dandy.

I'm just great.

Say it enough and I might start to believe it.

I wonder if Jessica the Jumper said that to people the day she leapt off the bridge. I'm great, thanks for asking. I wonder if people realized how un-fine she really was.

Maggie's funeral is simple. She didn't go all-out for a fancy casket or an elaborate ceremony. It's just like her: practical. I sit far in the back, wondering who all these people are. Some I think must be from her Friday night bingo group. Others are neighbors. A couple people approach me after the service with sympathetic looks, touching my face and arms while I try to shy away. I didn't want to go up front where Maggie's casket is open. But while everyone mingles and murmurs amongst themselves, Penny waddles over and links her arm with mine, and I don't have much of a choice but to go along unless I want to make a scene.