When it was over, the last prayer voiced, the last hymn sung, I wanted to escape the same way I’d arrived. But Zach and Jenny were allowed to exit first, and then they lined up by the front door. A gauntlet we had to run before we were free. I had no idea what to say to them. Sorry for your loss sounded wrong considering I’d suffered the exact same misfortune. And I had no words of comfort, no real belief that someday our loss would no longer feel like a gaping wound or that our daughters were better off. The dead were gone and the world could be a nasty, festering place. And somehow, our daughters had gotten tangled in its ugliness. That was the only truth I knew. At least I was smart enough to know that saying it out loud wouldn’t be helpful to anyone.

Zach and Jenny were standing together in the vestibule, arranged under a banner of silver foil balloons spelling out IZZY and attached to the floor with hot-pink ribbons. I wondered if the person responsible for them was the same one who’d left me the cookies. A thoughtful gesture turned macabre and ghoulish in actual execution.

I was still worrying over what to say when Jenny saved me, her social graces much more polished than mine. Turned out I didn’t need to say a word. She swept me into her thin arms the second I approached. Her tearstained cheek pressed into mine, and her shuddering breath whispered past my ear.

I pulled back as gently as I could, gritting my teeth against the urge to shove her off of me. “The service was very nice,” I managed.

Jenny’s lip quivered as she tried to smile. “Thank you.”

Zach laid his hand on my back and I flinched away, feeling surrounded, buried under their grief and good intentions when I was struggling to stay afloat myself. “Is there anything we can do for you?” he asked.

I shook my head without looking at either of them. The air in the vestibule was too warm, the heater pumping even though the temperature outside was spring mild, and a bead of sweat slithered down my spine. I swallowed down the lump forming in my throat. “No, I’m okay. You worry about yourselves.” The words came out harsh, accusing rather than conciliatory.

“Come on,” Cal said, grabbing my hand. “Let’s get some air.”

I pushed out through the heavy double doors, letting them swing shut on Cal’s hurried good-byes. I gulped in the fresh air, early evening painting the sky with pink. This had always been Junie’s favorite time of day, when the light turned hazy and the clouds sparkled.

When Cal dropped me off at home, it took ten minutes of convincing to get him to let me go in alone. “You have to be getting sick of my couch,” I pointed out. “It’s lumpy as hell.” He didn’t disagree, but started to open his door anyway.