At the hotel he changed and flattened the black suit with his palm.  When he went to change from his tennis shoes he could not find his funeral shoes.  He rummaged through his suitcase but could not find them.  He left anyway and took the rented car to the funeral home and parked in the mostly full lot.  When he went up to the front door a woman opened it for him and held it and smiled and he told her thanks and went through it.  Someone he did not know directed him to the basement, where people were waiting for the funeral to begin, and he went.

            
            There was a coffee maker and a big fish aquarium.  When Roger came down the steps and entered the basement his mother stood and went over and hugged him. 

            
            “Roger, Roger, I’m so glad to see you’re here.”
            
            “Of course I’m here.”
            
            “Did you have trouble finding the place?”           
            
            “No.”
            
            “Have you seen your sister yet?”
            
            “No.”

            
            “Well, she looks very nice.”
            
            “Good.”
            
            His mother left to talk with some other people and Roger took a seat by a bookcase and looked over the books there.  How to deal with the death of a child, how to cope with the loss of a spouse, why did god take that loved one?

            
            They were all strangers to him in the basement except his mother and father and even they hadn’t seen him in years.  He knew they thought he was drunk and if they asked he decided he would say no, only buzzing.  He looked around the room again and saw a girl with a Styrofoam cup whom he had never seen.  The cup was shaking in her hand and she was looking down into the coffee as if studying it until she raised it to her lips and drank.  She looked over the cup at the people around her and her eyes locked onto Roger’s and when she lowered the cup onto the lamp table beside her some coffee splashed onto her fingers.  Without looking away she slowly licked her fingers dry.

                                                                         ***

            
            After the funeral and burial the girl who had licked her fingers tapped Roger on the shoulder. 

            
            “Who are you?” she asked him.

            
            “I’m Sarah’s brother.  I’m Roger.”
            
            “Hi,” she said.  “I couldn’t believe when I heard about it.  She was a friend.”
            
            “I’m sorry,” Roger said.

            
            “So you’re from out of town?  Where?”
            
            “I’m just here for two days.  I’m from Nevada.”
            
            “It must be cold here for you.”
            
            “Very cold.”
            
            “So do you have a place to stay?” 
            
            “Yes, actually I have a hotel room.”
            
            “Maybe we could go back there and talk about Sarah.  Or even my place.  We could go to my place.”            
            
            “Okay,” Roger said.  He began to follow her to her car which had been in the slow procession.  She opened the door for him and he sat and waited for her to turn the heater on but she did not.  She drove him and he wondered what this would be like and what his mother and father would think of him.  He thought of her licking her fingers looking at him and he thought again and again about it.  She pulled into her driveway after a few minutes and Roger got out.  He looked up at the small house and it seemed large to him.

            
            “This doesn’t feel right,” Roger said.

            
            “Of course it does.  Yes, it does,” the girl replied.  She walked up the front steps and turned her key and opened the door.  He waited, and then followed.   It was dark inside the house.  She went into the kitchen and threw her keys onto the counter and turned to him.

            
            “I hate funerals,” she said.

            
            Roger nodded.  “They are depressing.”
            
            “It’s not so much that part,” she said.  “I don’t know, I can’t explain it.”

            
            Roger nodded.  “I know what you mean.”           
            
            “Well, ready to go upstairs?” she asked.

            
            “What’s up there?”
            
            The girl laughed.  “My bedroom.”
            
            “I thought we were going to talk.”
            
            “We will.  Up there.”  She started to unzip her dress in the back and then asked if he could help her.

            
            “I don’t think I should.”

            
            The girl rolled her eyes.  “I thought you knew what I meant.”
            
            “I’m sorry.”
            
            “It’s not your fault.  I just wanted, well, I thought you knew what I meant.”
            
            Roger started to walk toward the door and she said, “Maybe I should give you a ride.  Do you want a ride?”
            
            “I’m sorry,” Roger said and walked out the door.  He was glad he had worn his tennis shoes.  It was almost dark and very cold outside and he didn’t know exactly where he was.  He started walking, sure he would find his destination with time.