While there wasn’t music playing, in the back of my mind, I heard music. A string quartet playing slow, solemn notes. The cords repeated themselves over and over.

  There might never be any answers for me. And maybe they didn’t matter.

  My grandfather had suffered and took secrets with him to the grave. But maybe for a little while, he found some peace. What could have been and what was now... didn’t matter.

  I could regret forever about not coming sooner, or maybe coming at all. Then maybe he would have lived.

  But in the moment, in that peace, that was it. Only peace.

  When It All Turned Inside Out

  I returned to the house eventually. Gabriel had remained on the couch, but when I went in, he had me go with him into the kitchen.

  Before he could say anything, I hugged him. Tightly.

  I just needed him to know I appreciated him being the one to sit here. When it was my grandfather that was dead, he was the one stuck inside handling what was going on.

  He’d been managing a lot of things while I was here, because I’d felt too overwhelmed at times to cope with it myself.

  He buried his head into my neck and within seconds, I was off the floor, as he hugged me so tightly, I was lifted off my feet. With his arms around my waist, he held me.

  It was only for a moment, and he lowered me again. The comforting, strong hug refilled my ‘meter’ as Luke had called it.

  When he released me, he said, “The doctor confirmed, but we need to wait for a coroner. He might ask some questions. We’re just confirming what we saw. It’ll make it easier on him to determine the cause of death.”

  As he was speaking, footsteps echoed from the living room, and my grandmother appeared in the doorway.

  Sorrow etched her face, but it hadn’t completely taken over. There was also a peace, like a long hovering weight lifted, and she smiled sympathetically to us.

  “I’m so sorry you two were here to witness this,” she said.

  “Are you okay?” Gabriel asked.

  She gazed in my direction but she spoke to him. “I’ll have to arrange for a funeral. I know it’s a lot to ask, and maybe you don’t want to, but would you two mind staying here at the house for that time? At least until after the funeral? Maybe even longer than that? It would make me feel better knowing someone was here, especially to watch over Chica.”

  “We can stay,” Gabriel said confidently.

  My mouth didn’t know to smile or frown, and I struggled with what to say. So saying nothing, I just nodded.

  She seemed comforted by this, but she said nothing. She simply put her palms together in a prayer motion, nodded, and turned to leave us alone.

  After that point, things flowed very quickly. The coroner did come, and he took statements from us, but he didn’t write down our names, just who we were in relation to my grandfather.

  I lied, of course.

  It took hours before arrangements were made for the body to be removed, but the coroner, the doctor and Charlotte all remained, talking among themselves, sometimes in the parlor, sometimes in the living room. Most of it was talking about the funeral.

  During the next few days, the house was open to guests. Gabriel and I turned into assistants for Charlotte. We greeted people, accepted flower arrangements and food. For some reason, people never went to Charlotte’s house in town. They always came to the farmhouse.

  Charlotte arrived in the mid-morning every day. She lingered, waiting for people to come by and say what they wished to pay respects.

  I hovered with Gabriel in the kitchen most of the time. “I’ve never been to a funeral,” I whispered to him on the fourth day of people coming. “Is this normal?”

  “Not to me,” he said gravely. “It’s like a mini-wake every day.”

  “What do you do at a wake normally?” I asked. I’d only witnessed funerals on TV shows and such, so I felt I might have been missing what was supposed to happen.

  He shrugged. “It’s probably different depending on a lot of things. From the ones I’ve been to, there was one before the funeral. It’s normally just one day and everyone comes to view the body. But the body isn’t here so I don’t know what’s going on. Then there’s a funeral, and immediately after the funeral, everyone gets together and eat food and talk about him and that’s it. It’ll be over.”

  Over.

  But as the week continued with people coming by, loading up the house with flowers and food, I wasn’t sure it would ever be over. We were constantly busy, and people cycled in and out, talking to Charlotte or each other. I got reprieve only as I took the dog around the property for walks, for Chica’s sake and for my own.

  Everyone knew my grandfather. Everyone had stories about him.

  We learned later that the body was actually at the funeral home in town and would be transported to the church for the funeral. People would go there to view it then come to the farmhouse, seeking out Charlotte.

  My uncle didn’t come by. Charlotte said he was avoiding the house but he had been to see the body and would be at the funeral.

  “Afterward they’ll come here for food,” Charlotte said. She walked us through every part of what was happening, like she had been through it a few times before, and kept us updated.

  “Should we make anything?” I asked. “We can prepare some food.”

  She smiled sweetly and shook her head. “No, honey, no don’t worry about it. Thank you for thinking to do so though.” She turned to Gabriel. “She’s so sweet, isn’t she? You should hold on to her.”

  “Trying to,” Gabriel said.

  “You probably won’t have to do a thing,” she said. “The church will bring food and plates and extra tables, but everyone has brought over so much, we might not need more food at all. We’ll use what was brought. Also, thanks for staying here. I feel much better knowing someone is staying at the house.”

  She said that a lot. I wondered if she meant because of the thieves that had been by. But what thieves would be by when there were so many people streaming in and out of this house?

  Because Charlotte was here and people were coming and going, Silas and North took down the scaffolding. We made sure to lock the upstairs bedrooms firmly so no one would go in them, but we opened up the second-floor bathroom so people could use it if the other one was occupied.

  It was a week and a half that lasted forever.

  And every night, when the house quieted down and we were alone, the others came in.

  At first, we did nothing. We sat in the living room. We talked about my grandfather. We played tug of war with the dog and bought her a few dog toys to play with. We ate from the food that was brought over.

  Everything was on hold. Everything. No one felt eager to inspect the house. Luke didn’t feel it was right to go too far and break into other homes for what he needed to do, at least for the first week. So we stayed together.

  Still, no one dared asked what we would do. What would happen next. What happened now. There was no answer. Eventually, Luke felt he needed to go finish what he was brought here to do, until Charlotte’s and my uncle’s house were the only ones left to inspect.

  “Grace is at Charlotte’s when she’s not there,” Luke said. “And your uncle put jobs on pause for now and he’s been at home. There’s no chance to look.”

  I wasn’t totally sure why we were anymore.

  At night, I usually went to bed a little earlier. Having so many people around, people I didn’t know, it was draining. My emotions over my grandfather dying swayed from numbness, to sadness, to simply being uncomfortable. Guilt weighed heavy. Confusion about the past and what happened seeped into me over time. It faded as the days went on, until there was mostly a numbness.

  On the night before the funeral, I was in bed, waiting for Gabriel to take off his shoes. It’d been a long day, as more people seemed to come by, some of them had already been there a couple of times. They simply returned to join Charlotte, who was well adored by the community. But they had loads to say about her husband. It was like the town had stopped for this, coming whenever they got a chance to get together at the house.

  “It’s almost over,” Gabriel said with a sigh. He stopped himself and turned to me. “Sorry,” he said. “It just feels like the longest funeral ever.”

  I understood him. “Was this what it was like for you? For your parents?”

  He was wearing all black, a short turtleneck and slacks and boots for now, a lot of it borrowed from North now as he cycled through a lot trying to stick with all black. It was strange as it made the earrings, his skin coloring, and his hair pop with color. He turned from me, gazing at the wall, though not looking at it. “No. Actually, for my mom’s and my brother, I don’t remember. I was there, but I think I zoned out through most of it. My dad...” He lowered his head and shook it. “If this was anything Pam went through...”

  He sighed and lowered his head more, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose.

  I reached over to him, touching his back and rubbing gently. Slowly, I followed his ribcage that I could feel through the sweater, and then along his spine.

  He leaned back into my hand. He sniffed heavily and picked his head up, but he didn’t look at me. “Remind me to give more credit to Pam when I get back.”

  “Maybe we should go after the funeral,” I said. “We’ve been gone for too long.”

  “No, we’re fine. In fact, I think it did some good.” He turned finally, putting his knee on the bed so he could sit to look at me. “Got word yesterday. She finally kicked Clay out. And she did it without me there. I don’t know what Mr. Buble did... Or maybe when she yelled at me the other day, she was psyching herself up to breaking up with him.”

  I was just a bit worried about that. She hadn’t called since. Was she really mad at him still?

  But Gabriel didn’t seem all too worried.

  Getting rid of Clay was still an achievement. It was the first bit of good news I’d heard. “That’s great she did that... But... she’s alone now?”

  “Not totally,” Gabriel said. “Victor told me she took to subtly flirting with Mr. Buble. He had to let her down easy, but they’re friends. Victor said though that maybe he’d introduce her to some people. She needs a few better friends.”

  It was weird to hear how things were going on back at home, as lives were changing, and we were so far away.

  Like a taste of what would happen if we stayed here. We’d hear things, but... I missed home.

  The longer we stayed away, the harder it was to be here. With my grandmother usually saying every day that it was nice for us to stay here at the house, I felt like I was drifting further and further away from what I really wanted.

  Gabriel inhaled deeply, and reached out to where his guitar was sitting against the wall. He picked it up, put it on his lap, and he picked a few cords.

  I sat back on the bed, relaxing and gazing up at the ceiling. He didn’t play the guitar nearly enough. I hardly ever got to hear him.

  Chica padded into the room. We’d started leaving the door open at night, and she slept at the foot of the bed, at least until Gabriel accidentally kicked her in his sleep because the bed was smaller, and then would sleep on the floor, waiting for us to wake up.

  She barked once, realizing it was Gabriel making those noises, and then settled onto the floor in a happy heap.

  Gabriel chuckled and continued. After several moments of him strumming, he started playing a tune. It wasn’t familiar to me. It was slow, and sweet.

  “I didn’t know you played in an actual band,” I said to him, remembering the conversation for the week before. “Like a real band in front of other people? Was it with Victor?”

  “Sometimes,” he said.

  I blinked a few times. “On stage with his concerts?”

  “Nope.” Gabriel still looked at the wall, but his cheeks bunched like he was smiling. “No, he’d play keyboards. Sometimes.”

  “When? How?”

  He turned his head a little, but he still played his song. “The occasional Academy gig. Usually pop or rock covers. Nothing unique. We just filled in sometimes in some places around Charleston. We all learned a few instruments.”

  I considered who else might play and what a band would need to be a band. “Who all else plays what?” I asked. “Kota plays drums, right? What about the others? What does North play?”

  He stopped the playing by smacking his hand against the strings of the guitar and turned to me fully, putting his knee on the bed to twist and look at me. “Guess.”

  I raised a brow. “Drums too?”

  “Yeah, but he kept breaking the sticks. He played too rough. So Kota’s better.” He laughed a little. “Even with music, Kota beats him out. Always thought that was funny.”

  “And Silas?”

  “Mostly vocals. Background vocals. That deep voice he has? And people love when he thickens up the accent.”

  I could imagine. “What about Luke?”

  He leaned in and chuckled as he spoke. “Bass guitar. And sometimes normal guitar.”

  No way! And then suddenly it made sense. “As a backup for you...”

  “Not everyone can be as good as me.” Gabriel dragged a note on the guitar and then played a bunch of rapid cords that sounded like it was meant more for an electric guitar than the acoustic one he’d brought. He only did it for a few bars and then stopped. “He’s not bad either. It’s just not his thing so he only practices enough to do those gigs.”

  “Where are all the instruments? I haven’t seen them.”

  “The guitars were at my house. Mostly. I think the drum kit ended up in North’s trailer, since he’s usually the one to haul them when we do gigs. And you know, Victor usually has his own... at least he used to. Same with the others.”

  “You learned fast. Wasn’t it at the beginning of the school year, you wanted to learn bass?”

  He squinted, peering into the far corner of the room. “I think I said that. And I can do it now. Didn’t take long to adjust.”

  He learned fast. Or he was naturally gifted with music. “You haven’t done one of those gigs with me around.”

  “Maybe next time.” He paused then and frowned. “Who knows when...”

  I bit my lower lip and sighed heavily. He was right. Who knew when that would be. It was hard to think of the future now. Not with the funeral tomorrow. It felt like we’d been stuck in limbo for a long time.

  It felt wrong to do anything else, to even think of the future.

  As if sensing my mood, Gabriel smacked a palm against the surface of the bed. “Get in the bed. I’ll play for you.”

  I crawled in and settled in with the blanket.

  Gabriel grinned sheepishly. “And don’t look at me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. It’s weird. Look at the wall.”

  He could do it in front of a whole crowd of people at a gig, but not for me?

  But the intimacy of it, maybe it was too much if I was the only one here and looking right at his face the whole time.

  I turned away from him and closed my eyes. If he felt more comfortable with me like this, then I’d happily face away when he played.

  Gabriel strummed some more, and then eventually settled into a rhythm.

  He soon changed cords into what sounded like a familiar pop tune, just slowed down to be able to play it on the acoustic guitar, like the unplugged version of a rock song.

  But instead of the lyrics, he sang different words. I didn’t know where they came from.

  “He was a lost boy, way too pitiful, and too much cologne.

  She was a silent girl, way too beautiful and way too alone.

  Lost, alone.

  Who would have known?

  Their lives, mixed up in some old crime.

  Should it ever happen?

  Boy, stop wasting her time.”

  He kept singing, and it was a little about me, a little about him, and a bit about what had happened to us. I wasn’t totally sure, but it seemed he was making the lyrics up as he went. On the spot.

  Maybe that’s why he couldn’t have me looking at him. He found it easier to do it this way.

  He went on for a while, and at some point, he stopped and hummed lines. Repeated a few to make a chorus.

  It sounded like he was building a song right here, just for me.

  I listened, a little thrilled he was working out the words.

  And singing.

  And playing.

  With me right there.

  It was like reading his notebook, but much better. And he was right. It was easier to hear than watching him directly.

  It felt weird, just a little, to be enjoying the moment with him. What was it about death, about funerals, that made one feel they had to be constantly sad?

  Yet he’d been through at least two, for his own family. So I trusted Gabriel to show me what was okay to do during this time.

  It was a spark of happiness between us in what had been so many days of mourning.

  It left us hope that there would be life after it was all over.

  He sang for a while. And eventually, he stopped singing and just played.

  Played until I could sleep.

  Being There with Her

  Gabriel

  The funeral turnout at a small country church was to the door, with people standing behind the back pews and along the walls. All of the pews were packed. Kids sat on laps of parents to make extra room. Still more seemed to stand outside, and the doors to the main room were left open to allow people outside to listen. This let in the cold, but no one complained. Everyone was here to say goodbye to Brian Sorenson.

  Seemed like everyone in the county knew Brian. Or maybe they mostly knew Charlotte and were coming for support.

  It was the largest turnout Gabriel had seen at any funeral he had been to.

  He wasn’t sad about it. His own parents hadn’t been that involved in the community.

  Was this what would have happened if his family had stayed here?

  How different life could be, if only...

  Despite having a whole week and a half of the house to ‘themselves,’ there was little time to search the house for remnants of Sang’s existence. They would still need to do that, but he’d hesitated, and waited until the last couple of nights, after she fell asleep, to search. He did manage to get into the parlor for a search, but there was little in the drawers besides loads of stuff that probably should have been in other parts of the house. Towels. Soaps. Blankets. Old clothes. Hardware supplies and tools. He even found a very old video reel machine. Nothing about Sang.