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I stepped forward. Only a short pace, but it took me closer to the brink. I stared into the large hole in the ground, the final resting place for my parents and my baby brother.

All three of them together in death.

Three separate coffins. Two large. One small. The small on top of the large.

I should be with them.

Everyone I loved.

Everyone.

Gone.

All I had left was an absence of feeling. Numb was my new BFF, my ever-present companion, and I clung to her tightly. She was my lifeguard, holding me buoyant above the grueling loss and pain lurking beneath. I stood with the somber-dressed group of mourners. There were so many of them. Colleagues and pupils from where they worked. Friends. Neighbors. Most of our village had made the journey to Canterbury’s municipal graveyard. There were sniffles among the crowd, but I refused to cry.

I couldn’t.

I hadn’t shed a tear since the terrible news of the accident.

Reverend O’Connell was nearing the end of the burial service. His soft voice droned. “We commend unto thy hands of mercy, most merciful Father, the souls of thy brother, thy sister, and thy child departed, and we commit their bodies to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. And we beseech thine infinite goodness to give us grace to live in thy fear and love…”

It was hard to concentrate and hard to listen to his voice. Not for the first time, I wished I had some religious leanings. Maybe that would help during this… crisis. But my parents had never bothered with religion. They were atheists, though not passionately so, and now they were gone. Truly gone. Would there be an afterlife for them? Or would their bodies just feed the ground on which I stood––end of story?

I dismissed the depressing thought, and the distant, sunlit oak drew my attention once more. Suddenly, everyone around me muttered “Amen,” disturbing my friend Numb.

No.

No.

Hold on. Don’t leave me now.

The whispers began again.

“She’s so strong.”

“… on her own now…”

“… so young to be on her own…”

“Only sixteen? Seventeen?”

“What’s to become of her?”

“… living with some distant relative…”

“Poor child.”

Ignoring them was easy, yet I was grateful for my mother’s huge sunglasses swamping my face. All eyes were trained in my direction, watching my every move, all conveying their pity. I always hated being the center of attention, but right now, I just didn’t care. Numb helped. She kept my head held high for my parents’ sake. I didn’t want to break down in front of all these people. I didn’t want to engage. I couldn’t. My detachment was complete.

The crowd began to disperse. They were going back to my parents’ house—my house—for a funeral tea. I looked again at the lonesome, mighty oak.

This is me now. Alone. But not so mighty.

Alone except for Dr. Dylan Knightley, who stood watching me. My sentinel, dressed in a sharp black suit, his frigid blue eyes taut with grief. “What do you want to do, Emily? Would you like to go back to the house or stay here a little longer?” His voice was hoarse with emotion.

I swallowed. “Stay,” I whispered, the solitary word squeezing through the uncomfortable knot in my throat.

He nodded. “I’ll wait by the car. Take as long as you need.” He turned and stalked toward the dark Mercedes that had brought us to the city graveyard.