Chapter 45: Yaron

Vee wanted a private funeral, attended only by a handful of friends and acquaintances. She refused to turn Luke’s death into a media spectacle and didn’t want anyone from Los Angeles there.

The ceremony was brief. I was surprised to see some of Luke’s neighbors. Our small group included Daniel, Barnaby, the cook and maid Vee had hired to care for Luke, and a few old classmates, including Natalie. I had no idea who had informed them about his passing or the service. It caught me off guard—most of them had never even met Luke. Some had probably bullied Vee or me in the past, or been the ones who once painted “crazy” on her mailbox.

My parents and sisters were also present, but they barely acknowledged me. Only Hannah waved at me.

Vee moved as if she were sleepwalking. She wore a black dress she had bought the day before. Daniel and I were both in dark gray suits. Mine was older rather than new, and my tie was a bit too wide. We were pallbearers.

The funeral felt like it lasted an eternity. Lowering the casket, the reverend’s speech, Vee tossing a single flower into the grave, the awkward condolence line—I wished people would just leave her alone. One of our former classmates even tried to take a selfie with her before I shoved him away.

By the end, Vee was leaning heavily on me, and I could tell she needed to sit. We found a bench, and I wrapped my arms around her protectively. She buried her face in my shoulder, crying softly.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Vee. Luke wasn’t my favorite person in the world, but I know he loved you despite his flaws.”

She nodded and whispered, “It’s the wrong kind of day for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Funerals should happen on rainy days, with a chill in the air and the world painted in dying autumn colors. There should be mud, and looming gray clouds, and passersby huddled miserably in their coats, clutching their umbrellas. There should be the sorrowful rhythm of windshield wipers and the mournful, persistent dripping of rain from rotting eaves. That’s the kind of day funerals deserve.”

“Life isn’t a movie, Vee. Sometimes funerals happen under a clear sky, with the sun shining over your head.”

She shook her head, unconvinced.

“Do you want to go home?” I asked, softly.

“Maybe in a little while. Now that everyone’s gone, I’d like to stay a bit longer.”

“All right. Do you want to be alone? I can go for a walk or something.”

“No, Yaron. Please stay.” She grabbed my hand, holding it tightly.

We sat in silence, watching the mostly empty cemetery as dusk settled over the graves. A few workers lingered, folding chairs and picking up trash.

When night finally fell, we drove to her old home, where I sat with her in the kitchen, saying nothing. Just being there.