27

The next morning I woke up in an empty bed.

The sun was up and Daniel was gone. And when I got up to pee, the whole house was quiet. I’ll admit I panicked a little. Maybe, I thought, as I sat on the coldest toilet seat in human history, Daniel had gotten what he came for. We talked through a few things and that was all he needed. When I finished in the bathroom, I pulled on some pajama pants and went downstairs.

The couch was empty.

His computer was gone too.

I stepped through the quiet hallway of the house until I reached the kitchen and let out a deep breath.

There was Daniel at the kitchen table. A neglected bowl of cereal sat in front of him, along with a cup of my dad’s burnt coffee. He was fully dressed, for once, in a pair of well-fitting jeans and a light blue button-down. His hair was combed in a loose part.

I hardly recognized him. He looked older and younger at the same time. He was looking over a bunch of documents and brochures. When I stepped closer, I saw they were materials from my dad’s business.

“Your dad is a seriously weird guy,” he said. “A science fiction dog funeral? Holy shit.”

I wanted to tell him I was glad he was still here. What I said instead was: “Why are you dressed like a host at the Olive Garden?”

Daniel glanced down at his shirt. He smoothed it over his chest.

“I thought maybe we could go for a walk,” he said. “I haven’t seen anything but a strip club since I’ve been here.”

I looked down at the pajama pants I’d been rocking for the last few days. They hung on me more than usual. I was getting skinny.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I said.

I lingered by the table. Daniel watched me.

“Fine,” I said. “Give me a minute.”

■   ■   ■

Outside, the sun was high and the blue sky glowed like it was backlit. We squinted against the brightness after days inside. I had yet to retrace my steps to the lake since the day I followed my computer into the water, and I wasn’t quite sure why I felt compelled to go there now. But, since my father was gone again, and my car was on E, there were few other attractions of note.

Daniel didn’t seem to care. He shuffled along, a step behind me, pleased to be out of his self-imposed captivity. He rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and held his face up to the light, like he hadn’t been in the sun in years.

“So why are you doing this?” he asked with his eyes closed.

I watched his face.

“Walking outside for no reason?” I said. “Because you asked me to.”

He smiled.

“Helping your dad with his business.”

“I’m his partner,” I said.

I could hear the flatness in my own voice.

“I didn’t ask what your role was. I asked why you’re doing it?”

For a guy who didn’t love talking, Daniel had a way of asking pointed questions.

“It helps just to do something,” Daniel said, after a moment. “Is that it?”

He put his hands in his pockets.

“When I first came home from school after Jonah died, I helped my dad repaint the garage. Then I did the whole house by myself, even though it looked fine. Every day, I climbed up the ladder and slapped on another coat. Dad was happy to provide the paint. The only thing he believes in is hard work, even if it’s meaningless. It worked for a little while, though. I felt better. Maybe it was the endorphins. Or just having a sense of purpose. But I think mostly it was the distraction. . . .”

“—And that’s what you think my life is right now,” I interrupted. “The symbolic painting of a garage?”

My voice came out louder than I’d hoped, but Daniel didn’t flinch.

“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s why I’m asking.”

We moved down the hill where the lake was quiet. There were no people on the path. And for a second, I felt that summer vacation sense of being alone and unsupervised in a daytime world. But I couldn’t help thinking about my last time here.

“Tess?” he said.

“Sorry,” I said. “Just zoning.”

The calm lake appeared before us, divided in half. One side was dazzling white with reflected sunlight. The other half had the darkened aura of an abandoned bog.

“It’s not a distraction,” I said finally.

Daniel turned toward me.

“I am perfectly capable of distracting myself in other ways I’ll have you know. For example: I enjoy books and recreational drugs and flirting with hot cowboys. So, I resent the implication that I would do this just to pass the time.”

“Okay,” he said. “Then why?”

“Well, because my dad needs help. That’s one reason. He’s not going to make it otherwise, and he’s at a point in his life where he might not have many more chances. He’s that much of a screwup.”

“And?” said Daniel.

“And . . . I’m actually good at it,” I said. “I can plan somebody’s death party like a pro, and it feels good to not suck at something. I know you and Jonah were computer geniuses or whatever, but I’ve never really found my thing.”

I looked at the water, clotted with patches of bright green algae.

“Is that it?” said Daniel.

I was heading toward the dock. I felt my heart rate increase as I grew closer and saw the sign cautioning against swimming.

“No,” I said.

I imagined the feel of the slimy stuff on my bare arms, the way it had adhered to me like a second skin when I made it to the surface. I closed my eyes. The sunlight flickered orange and yellow beneath my lids.

“I’m also doing it because I’m terrified,” I said.

Daniel watched me a moment.

“Of what?” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “Everything. But mostly my impermanence.”

His eyes searched my face.

“Some people are comforted by that,” I said. “Not me. I like existing. At least most of the time. I like having a body. I want to keep it. But someday I won’t have it anymore. That’s unsettling.”

I looked at the chipped railing on the dock.

“And I’m scared of being buried underground where worms and bugs will digest my remains. I know I won’t be conscious, but still. It doesn’t sound pleasant. Does that sound pleasant to you? I’m scared of being burned into a pile of oxidized matter. I’m scared of rotting and decaying.”

I was building up steam now.

“I’m scared that I don’t matter, even a little bit, and that no one matters and nothing matters. I’m scared that it all matters and I’m fucking it up. I’m scared I’m living my short short life wrong in every possible way. I’m scared I’ve already made so many mistakes and I don’t have enough time to fix them. I’m scared I won’t die with the slightest amount of dignity, like on the toilet or watching Bravo. I’m scared no one will care when I do. I’m scared that the only person I ever loved wasn’t real. I’m scared I will never get over him. And I’m scared I’m making the same mistake again.”

Daniel took this in. He took a step toward me. I didn’t want to look him in the eyes. I didn’t know what might happen. So I walked past him out onto the dock.

“I live with all of this like lots of people do,” I said, “and sometimes, I can keep it away. But when someone dies, there’s a rupture in all that, right? And all those fears come pouring back in at once. Maybe a good funeral can help people face it.”

I looked down into the muddy water, hoping maybe I could see my dearly departed laptop down there shimmering like a tiny futuristic shipwreck. But, of course, I could only see down a couple of feet.

“Maybe a good funeral can help people find enough order to keep going. At least it shows you that you’re not alone. I wish I’d had that. But I didn’t. So maybe I can help my dad give it to other people.”

We were quiet for a moment after this. I looked deeper into the water.

“Tess,” said Daniel.

He was by my side now.

“No more questions,” I said. “That’s all I have to say.”

“Tess,” he said again.

I turned to him. His brown eyes were wide.

“We need to plan a funeral,” he said.

I just stood there a moment.

“For Jonah.”

I pushed some blowing hair from my face.

“I think it might help us,” he said.

I took another step toward him, and he put his arms around me. He held me tight. But it was okay. It felt good. I held him back. I don’t know what it meant, but it was good just to cling for a moment. Like we were two parts of the same broken thing.

Me: This is it, Jonah: the person you left me with.