Page 13 of Love at a Funeral and Other Awkward Conversations

He shrugs. “Probably.”

I wrinkle my nose. “You know, you’re not real great at making people feel better.”

He raises his thick brows, but his shock melts to a cheeky grin that, for a second, has me forgetting what I’m doing here. There was a reason he was voted Best Smile in high school. “I don’t make you feel better?”

And then I remember I’m here because my brother died. “Not about this whole…death thing. Isn’t this your job? To make people like me feel better?”

He shifts in his chair, settling back into the exact same position he was in, and I find it oddly soothing I can make him uncomfortable. After a while of what seems like serious thinking, he tells me, “I don’t think anyone can necessarily make someone grieving feel better. But it’s my job to make their life a little easier in a tough season. I can take care of a lot of things people don’t even think about when this time arrives.”

I bite the inside of my cheek and look down to Gracie, who lies at my feet.

“How can I make your life easier?”

I have a hard time meeting his gaze. “Is it going to get easier?”

Decades of silence pass, and when I finally lift my head, Vince’s eyes are a little red. He clears his throat. “I’ve never been in your position, but I’ve seen other people in similar places, and it gets easier. At least, that’s what I’m told.” He holds a pen between his index and middle fingers, tapping the cap a few times on the desk. “And for the record, there is no right or wrong way to do this. I think you’re doing a fine job.”

I snort. “That’s funny because it feels all wrong. Like everything is wrong.” When he doesn’t say anything, I push my hair back off my forehead and straighten my shoulders. “So, what’s next? What do we do now?”

He aims the pen at me. “You said you needed out of your house, right? How about we take Gracie for a walk? We can figure all the rest out after.”

Gracie’s ears perk up at the word “walk,” and I nod. He grabs a purple-and-pink polka dot leash, clips it on Gracie’s collar, and leads us out into the hallway, toward another back door.

With Vince walking next to me and Gracie panting happily between us, it’s not so quiet outside anymore, and the sounds, as small as they are, keep me company. I’m not alone with them by my side.

“Gracie’s kind of like a therapy dog, huh?” I ask when we reach the end of the sidewalk.

“Not officially, but yeah, she makes people smile when they come into my office…unless they’re allergic. Then it’s not great,” he says with a smile my way.

From the first moment I’d met Vince when I was twelve years old, I’d been lost to him. Always smiling and affable, he had an easygoing charm, and I would have died—not literally—to be able to spend time with him like this. Now, though, I’m just happy to have someone to talk to.

Overcome with the urge to finally be honest with myself, I blurt out, “I haven’t cried. Like, at all. Everyone else around me is, but I…can’t.”

Vince shrugs. “Everyone reacts differently. Some people cry, some don’t.”

“But…does it make me a monster?”

He huffs and switches the leash to his other hand so he can tap his index finger to my temple. “It’s your brain protecting you. A lot of times when people experience trauma, emotional or physical, their brains disconnect from their bodies to protect them from harm. They detach, like when people talk about an out-of-body experience, it’s real. Your brain is protecting you. It’s science.”

I mull this over. It’s logical, but I don’t feel any less the Tin Man my brother called me.

The three of us settle into an easy pace that keeps my blood warm on this cold day. It’s refreshing being outside. Vince doesn’t ask me any more questions or force me to talk, and I find it easier to breathe as he tells me about the obedience class he took Gracie to when he first adopted her and how she sat down, refusing to follow any instruction. Not even for a treat.

I don’t have to think about the eulogy I haven’t written yet, or that my house has been invaded by people I haven’t seen in years, suddenly interested in every detail of our lives, or reflect on the sad reality we all now live in. For this short reprieve, none of that is true, and I’m purely on a walk with a cute guy and his dog.

But it can’t last forever, and after a few blocks, we turn around to head back to his office, where we finalize the last, agonizing details of how my brother will be put into the ground at the end of the week to become worm food. With Vince sitting next to me instead of on the other side of his desk, it’s easier, but I’m nauseous as images of rotting corpses invade my brain, and I suddenly want to throw up. Vince clearly picks up on this because he offers me a bottle of water and rubs my back in soft circles.

“There’s one more thing,” he hedges, and I swallow two cold gulps of water before meeting his gaze. “You’ll need to pick out an outfit for RJ to be buried in.”

The idea of completing this errand is sickening, but the use of his initials makes it feel like it’s another person. Normally, I’d be annoyed at the nickname, but I hold on to it for now, pretending we’re not actually talking about Raymond.

“Like what?” I ask.

“Whatever you want…maybe something Ray would be comfortable in.”

So much for pretending. My mouth goes dry, and the cement is back, but this time, it oozes down my throat, preventing me from taking another sip of water, so I set it aside. “Oh…okay.”

He stops rubbing my back to move in front of me, leaning on his desk. “I can come pick it up if it would be easier for you?”

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