“Well now, flour’s a start. By the time people move into the home, the families have already gotten rid of everything so that it’s all tidy come trust fund time, but if someone from the church goes, I always stop by the house as soon as I can. I try to nab sugar and laundry detergent, ‘cuz I go through a lotta those. Always try to get coffee. I just don’t have any need for flour; so I leave it for someone who is big into baking. But next time I’ll try to get you some, if you want.”

“No, thanks. I think I’m good on the flour.”

The big advice on how to handle death from the woman with the most wisdom in my life was basically a grocery list of what to ninja-loot. Considering I’d basically asked Mrs. K. for everything Kori owned, I guess I really couldn’t judge.

A turkey never voted for an early Christmas.
—Irish proverb

fifteen

People did leave when they died. Mrs. Patterson was wrong. School continued to be one long, grating reminder of it. There wasn’t a hall I could walk down, a place I could sit, or a song on my iPod that wasn’t lacking because Kori wasn’t there to share it with. When the final bell rang I knew it was time to face the walk home alone. I’d been catching rides with Cole and her mom and I realized I couldn’t avoid it forever. But when I got to Aspen Grove, my legs stiffened.

The black iron gates of the subdivision stood open against its river rock walls. Fat blue spruce and scraggly blue atlas landscaping flanked the entry, while fall pansies filled the beds with color and cheer, but I didn’t feel welcomed.

Cutting through the neighborhood could shorten my walk home considerably, and Cole lived there too, so it wasn’t like I was completely out of my place, yet I couldn’t bring myself to walk through the gates. I didn’t want to see Kori’s house. I didn’t want to see her family carrying on, or spot a service truck come to paint her bedroom ballet slipper pink or a decorator with Laura Ashley ruffles cascading over her arms trotting toward a smiling Mrs. K.

Everyone handles death differently, my inner voice chided. Who knew it made some people happier?

I avoided the neighborhood, walking instead on the sidewalk as it rounded the luxury homes. The landscape stretched and flowed alongside the protective nine-foot walls. A friendly reminder not to try to get too close to the people who lived behind them, but for me it was already too late.