are specially trained. Kind people will be very loving and careful when they touch her body. You can go with me to the funeral in a few days if you like.”
Funeral? PJ blocked the word. She followed Mr. Splitzky and Blossom home in silence, too stunned to understand what was going on, and refusing to believe she wouldn’t see Ruth ever again. She kept thinking about Ruth’s gold-flecked gray eyes and the way she twirled her honey-blond pigtail to help her solve someproblem. “Mr. Splitzky, what do you think happens when someone dies?”
“Ah, PJ,” he explained, “I was raised in a Jewish household, like Ruth, and like Ms. Lenz. Traditionally we believe in the
here
and the
now
. I wasn’t raised to believe in an afterlife. But talk to Mrs. Patel, PJ. She’ll share her Hindu thoughts on reincarnation. Ask your art teacher, Mr. Santos, about Catholic beliefs. Talk to Mr. Kanafani about Islam. Ask Mrs. Martins about Protestant beliefs. Go and talk to Ms. Naguri about Zen Buddhism. Then you can make up your own mind.”
“How will this help me?” PJ asked.
“Just listen,” said Mr. Splitzky. He placed a comforting arm around PJ’s shoulders. “Keep Ruth in your mind and heart. You will soon hear something to help you make sense of this unhappy day.”
She stood by the gate and watched Mr. Splitzky go, followed by Blossom swishing her tail. PJ longed to talk to her mother or to Mrs. Patel. But first she needed to go off alone. She began to feel a heaviness close around her heart, so she climbed back on the seat of her bike and pedaled toward the cliffs.
The loss made her think about Lemon Pie and how much she missed him, how much she would miss Ruth. If she felt this way, how must Josh be feeling? And Ruth’s parents? Mr. Splitzky said it was too soon to see them, but if all those other people could, why couldn’t she?
The wind was brisk. It whipped her cheeks and tugged her curls. She felt the sting of salt spray. A couple frolicked with dogs on the beach below, but PJ preferred to stay up on the cliffside. She didn’t want to risk bumping into anyone she knew. Gulls tumbled about in the strong wind, but she didn’t recognize any of them. BG and LG were nowhere in sight.
She thought about Ruth’s advice, about learning to let go, giving animals and friends the strength to move on, to be free, to find their own space.
But how could you let go before you understood what it was that you were letting go? It was impossible for PJ to imagine she would never see Ruth again. PJ longed to talk to Joshua. She would call him soon, whether Mr. Splitzky said it was a good idea or not.
The wind got colder and fiercer. It flattened sea oats to the sandy crest of the cliff. PJ shivered. She wished she had one of her heavy fleece hoodies with her. She jumped on her bike again and headed home.
Her mom’s car was in the driveway. Had she come home early because of Ruth’s death?
PJ locked her bicycle and went in slowly, wondering why she felt so numb. Her mother was on the phone in the front room, surrounded by books.
Mrs. Picklelime studied her daughter’s face anxiously. She ended her call and reached out for PJ.
PJ hugged her and then pulled away. “It’s not right.”
“Honey, I lost my best friend at your age. I know how it feels.”
PJ shook her head. “You can’t know how I feel, Mom.”
Mr. Picklelime poked his head around the door and said, “Sorry, sorry to hear about Ruth.” When they didn’t react, he asked, “Was she taking any sort of drugs? Kids do these days. If she was, I need to know if she gave you anything, PJ.”
“Dad, how can you talk to me like that?”
Mrs. Picklelime held up her hands. “Philip, I’ll take care of this. Why not give us a little space?”
When he left, PJ said, “Dad is so wrong.
So
wrong! You know that, don’t you?”
“Course I do. Don’t take any notice, PJ. He’s overanxious about you. That’s all.” She paused. “Mr. Splitzky called me, so
Funeral? PJ blocked the word. She followed Mr. Splitzky and Blossom home in silence, too stunned to understand what was going on, and refusing to believe she wouldn’t see Ruth ever again. She kept thinking about Ruth’s gold-flecked gray eyes and the way she twirled her honey-blond pigtail to help her solve someproblem. “Mr. Splitzky, what do you think happens when someone dies?”
“Ah, PJ,” he explained, “I was raised in a Jewish household, like Ruth, and like Ms. Lenz. Traditionally we believe in the
here
and the
now
. I wasn’t raised to believe in an afterlife. But talk to Mrs. Patel, PJ. She’ll share her Hindu thoughts on reincarnation. Ask your art teacher, Mr. Santos, about Catholic beliefs. Talk to Mr. Kanafani about Islam. Ask Mrs. Martins about Protestant beliefs. Go and talk to Ms. Naguri about Zen Buddhism. Then you can make up your own mind.”
“How will this help me?” PJ asked.
“Just listen,” said Mr. Splitzky. He placed a comforting arm around PJ’s shoulders. “Keep Ruth in your mind and heart. You will soon hear something to help you make sense of this unhappy day.”
She stood by the gate and watched Mr. Splitzky go, followed by Blossom swishing her tail. PJ longed to talk to her mother or to Mrs. Patel. But first she needed to go off alone. She began to feel a heaviness close around her heart, so she climbed back on the seat of her bike and pedaled toward the cliffs.
The loss made her think about Lemon Pie and how much she missed him, how much she would miss Ruth. If she felt this way, how must Josh be feeling? And Ruth’s parents? Mr. Splitzky said it was too soon to see them, but if all those other people could, why couldn’t she?
The wind was brisk. It whipped her cheeks and tugged her curls. She felt the sting of salt spray. A couple frolicked with dogs on the beach below, but PJ preferred to stay up on the cliffside. She didn’t want to risk bumping into anyone she knew. Gulls tumbled about in the strong wind, but she didn’t recognize any of them. BG and LG were nowhere in sight.
She thought about Ruth’s advice, about learning to let go, giving animals and friends the strength to move on, to be free, to find their own space.
But how could you let go before you understood what it was that you were letting go? It was impossible for PJ to imagine she would never see Ruth again. PJ longed to talk to Joshua. She would call him soon, whether Mr. Splitzky said it was a good idea or not.
The wind got colder and fiercer. It flattened sea oats to the sandy crest of the cliff. PJ shivered. She wished she had one of her heavy fleece hoodies with her. She jumped on her bike again and headed home.
Her mom’s car was in the driveway. Had she come home early because of Ruth’s death?
PJ locked her bicycle and went in slowly, wondering why she felt so numb. Her mother was on the phone in the front room, surrounded by books.
Mrs. Picklelime studied her daughter’s face anxiously. She ended her call and reached out for PJ.
PJ hugged her and then pulled away. “It’s not right.”
“Honey, I lost my best friend at your age. I know how it feels.”
PJ shook her head. “You can’t know how I feel, Mom.”
Mr. Picklelime poked his head around the door and said, “Sorry, sorry to hear about Ruth.” When they didn’t react, he asked, “Was she taking any sort of drugs? Kids do these days. If she was, I need to know if she gave you anything, PJ.”
“Dad, how can you talk to me like that?”
Mrs. Picklelime held up her hands. “Philip, I’ll take care of this. Why not give us a little space?”
When he left, PJ said, “Dad is so wrong.
So
wrong! You know that, don’t you?”
“Course I do. Don’t take any notice, PJ. He’s overanxious about you. That’s all.” She paused. “Mr. Splitzky called me, so
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