The Beginning of After Read Free Page A

teachers. Two of them had been my teachers too, just a few years back. Some kids from school who I was friendly with and their families, plus dozens of people I either didn’t know or couldn’t remember the names of. It was standing room only in the funeral home.
    Nana and I sat up front, where almost nobody could see us, and she held my hand tight while people spoke. I knew I was supposed to listen and nod and cry like everyone else, but I was busy composing a letter in my head:
Dear Mom and Dad and Toby,
There are a lot of people here. That’s good, right? Doesn’t everyone always wonder who would show up to their funeral? So now you know. If you’re watching. I’d like to think you’re watching, but just in case you’re not, here are the highlights:
Dad’s college friends Tom and Lena reading a poem they wrote together.
Toby’s music teacher, Ms. McAndrew, singing “Amazing Grace.” Did somebody not tell her this was a Jewish funeral? But it did sound pretty.
Mom, your friend Tanya reading an Emily Dickinson poem. Was that really your favorite one like she said?
It was cool of the rabbi to do the service, since we never bothered to join the synagogue—I guess when there’s only one rabbi in town, that’s how it goes. He talked about community kindness and mitzvahs. I wish I could be more specific, because apparently what he said made a lot of people cry, but when he was speaking I was watching two squirrels in a tree outside the window.
Nana cried out loud twice. I had to give her some Kleenex because she used up her handkerchief. I didn’t have anything black, so I borrowed one of your dresses, Mom. It was a little big in the bust, but otherwise I think it looked nice.
Love,
Laurel

    At the burial, Nana sprinkled dirt into the graves with her hands shaking, walking gingerly around them like a garden she’d just planted. The rabbi offered me the shovel, but I shook my head no.
    That was when I saw David.
    He was hanging back, hovering near some stranger’s headstone, wearing a black blazer over a black T-shirt and black jeans. People kept turning around to look at him and whisper. Almost gawking, like some rock star had made an appearance at my family’s funeral. But he didn’t look back at them. He just watched the three caskets intently and ignored anyone who was alive.
    Earlier, I’d heard someone say that they were leaving the tent up and just moving it down the hill a bit, because Mrs. Kaufman’s funeral was the next day.
    When it was time for us to stand up and leave, I glanced back to where I’d seen David, but he was gone.
    Mr. Kaufman was in a coma. He was in ICU, and the hospital was making a very special exception by letting David stay there in an empty room.
    That’s what I heard at the reception back at the house. I was planted in a chair in the den, a great spot for hearing snippets of conversation as they floated by me. Megan sat next to me, eating a sesame bagel, not talking but occasionally rubbing my back.
    Some people came to me. They’d lean in to talk closer to my ear or squat down so they were looking up at my face. At times I felt like a queen on her throne, and at others like a four-year-old kid. I knew they were just trying to be nice, the neighbors and friends and classmates and all the rest. They were just doing what they thought they were supposed to, which was exactly what I was doing too.
    I was in the bathroom when I heard Mrs. Dill and the Dills’ next-door neighbor, Mrs. Franco, talking in low tones on the other side of the door.
    “Do they know anything more about what happened?” asked Mrs. Franco.
    “I don’t think so,” said Mrs. Dill. “They might be putting out a call for witnesses, to see if other drivers may have seen something.”
    “What do you think it was?”
    A pause. I sat still on the toilet, leaning in.
    “Probably Gabe,” whispered Mrs. Dill. “I bet he had a little too much to drink at dinner. Don’t you remember the Christmas party last