A thin layer of frost glistened on the granite headstones as people carefully picked their way across the slick grass. It was supposed to warm up and be bright and sunny by midafternoon. Didn’t matter to me either way. The inside of the car smelled like a combination of rug shampoo and pine trees, and I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a cheap cardboard air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. If I tried, I could probably see it from here. But that’d mean I’d actually have to move, and I didn’t want to. The windows had fogged over, and I swiped my hand across the glass. Mom and Dad were already there, standing by the giant hole in the ground and talking with the minister. People filled in around them, their heads bowed and their shoulders tense. I was glad to be out of the hospital, doing something besides staring at the white walls while everybody talked in hushed tones about how much progress I’d made. I was no longer crying and hadn’t taken a pain pill in days, but that had little to do with “progress”
