Zoe’s mother nudged her. The minister was leading a prayer now, and they were supposed to be standing. Zoe looked up at the altar. Her mom had chosen the flowers, which were perfect: lilies, roses, gladiolus. And Rufus had made a wooden box to hold the Wallaces’ ashes. It was walnut and carved with a pair of doves in flight, like souls. Zoe liked to tease Rufus (for saying “epic” and “rad” all the time, for having the world’s least secret crush on her mom), but he was an extremely good guy and more talented than Zoe had thought: the box was lovely, and there was no way he’d made it with a chain saw. Still, it was hard for Zoe to look at. She couldn’t believe that everything that was left of Bert and Betty could fit inside it. Two whole lives, one little box.
The prayer ended. Zoe checked the bulletin to see when the eulogy was supposed to be. It was right now.
The minister was nodding at her.
Zoe realized something.
She’d left her index cards in the car.
She felt her face get hot, her throat close. The minister raised his eyebrows.
Her mother signaled for him to wait, then leaned toward Zoe and whispered the kindest thing anybody had ever said: “Do you want me to do it instead?”
Every part of Zoe wanted to say yes.
“No,” she said. “I have to try. But it’s gonna be messy.”
“Messy is okay,” her mom said. “They knew how much you loved them.”
The minister looked annoyed. His eyebrows crept higher.
Zoe leaned past her mother to Jonah. He was wearing khaki pants, a red tie that he had insisted on tying himself—there was no describing the knot he’d finally come up with—and a blue blazer, the arms of which were so long that you could just barely see the tips of his fingers.
“Do you want to come up with me, bug?” she whispered.
“Yes, actually!” he said. “I think people will like my tie.”
“Go, go, go,” said their mom, and they climbed the steps to the altar holding hands.
The minister, seeing Jonah, said, “It seems we have a surprise guest”—which Jonah loved.
Zoe stood at the bare lectern, her pulse rushing, her mind blank as a swept room. She didn’t know how to start. A dozen feelings were colliding inside her. She missed Bert and Betty almost too much to talk about them, which reminded her how much she missed X—and she just couldn’t open that door. There was an ocean behind it.
Jonah let go of her hand, took a Sharpie out of his coat pocket, and started drawing on his palm. Maybe it was a bad idea to bring him up here. Had he taken his ADHD med this morning? Zoe looked at the congregation. They were restless. How long had she just been standing there?
Jonah tugged at her sleeve. She glanced down, annoyed.
He’d drawn a little red heart on his hand. He’d even colored it in. It was squiggly and wobbly—but it was for her.
It helped.
She leaned toward the microphone.
“I forgot the notes for my speech,” she said. “I think that’s god’s way of telling me that my speech wasn’t very good.”
There was a soft ripple of laughter, even from the minister, which calmed Zoe more. She looked out at her mom and Rufus. They immediately raised their palms—they had hearts on them, too. They must have planned this out.
“I could never say everything I want to about Bert and Betty anyway,” Zoe said. “They were so sweet and so funny.” Bits of the eulogy she’d written started floating back to her. “You know how you’ll be sitting there thinking of calling someone to see if they want to go hiking—and all of a sudden they call you to see if you want to go hiking? That was Bert and Betty. We were connected somehow.” She paused. “They taught Jonah and me so much about the woods and the mountains. They also secretly gave us ice cream for years, because our mom’s a vegan and won’t let it in the house. Sorry, Mom—Jonah and I have actually had a ton of ice cream.”
Jonah stood on his tippy-toes so he could reach the microphone, and said, “Salty caramel, please!”
Their mother made a pretend-angry face.
Zoe couldn’t remember the middle of the eulogy, so she skipped to the end. She’d worked so hard on it that she’d memorized it.
“The Wallaces loved us so much that it made me feel safe—like wherever I went, they were walking in front of me with shields,” she said. “The way they got killed … I really wish that I had been walking in front of them.” She stopped a moment. “When something horrible and unexpected happens, like Bert and Betty dying, I try to remember all the amazing and unexpected things that have also happened. Getting to know the Wallaces was one of them. It’s hard to breathe now that they’re gone. But some people change you so much that they make any amount of pain worth it.”
Zoe didn’t know if she was supposed to say “thank you” or just walk back to her seat. She stood awkwardly for a second, then said, “Okay, that’s all. Sorry I freaked out at the beginning.”
Jonah clapped for her, then leaned up to the microphone and said, “I tied my own tie.”
When they stepped down from the altar, Zoe saw that her mom and Rufus had their palm-hearts in the air.
Zoe was so relieved to be done with the speech that she felt like she was floating. The day was nowhere near over—Ripper was out there somewhere, waiting; Val and Dallas were in the back of the church, ready to barrage her with questions. But Zoe kept a box in the back of her brain for things she didn’t want to think about. It was labeled Do Not Open. She pushed all her worries into it now. For the rest of the service, she laid her head on her mom’s shoulder, replayed memories of the Wallaces, and stared at a spot to the left of the altar where the sun, streaming through the stained-glass windows, threw patches of blue, yellow, and green against the floor.
There was something Zoe hadn’t been able to say in her eulogy because it was too weird, but it comforted her now: she knew that Stan Manggold was being punished for killing the Wallaces, because X had eventually tracked him down and taken him to the Lowlands. The fact that he was suffering was not the thing that comforted her, though. What comforted her was this: if there was a hell for Stan, there had to be a heaven for Bert and Betty.
The plan was to spread the Wallaces’ ashes after the service. While the crowd drifted out and the organist played a few last chords, Zoe told her mom she needed a minute to say good-bye to Dallas and Val.
Zoe could almost always expect a woot! or a boom! from Dallas, but this time he said only, “You did good.” Val, looking agitated and angry, gestured for Zoe to follow her, and walked out of the church without a word.
The minister stood outside amid the parishioners. Val waited on the sidewalk where they wouldn’t be overheard.
“Ripper?” she said. “You know somebody named Ripper?”
“Yes,” said Zoe quietly.
“You are not going anywhere with her,” said Val.
“I am,” said Zoe.
“She’s psychotic,” said Val.
“Only a little,” said Zoe.
“This isn’t funny,” said Val. “Have you been lying to us this whole time—about X? About everything?”
Zoe was ashamed. She spoke even more softly.
“Not about everything,” she said. “Okay, yeah, about everything.”
Val turned away, too pissed off to speak.
“Why didn’t you tell us the truth, dude?” said Dallas.
“I should have,” said Zoe. “But the story is so crazy. And I guess—I’m just realizing this now—I guess I was afraid that once you knew who X really was, you’d tell me to stay away from him, and I knew that I couldn’t.”
Val turned back suddenly.
“I want to know everything about him,” she said. “Right now. You know I love you, but I swear to god, one more lie and I’m done.”
“X is …,” said Zoe. “Okay, here we go. X is a prisoner in a place called the Lowlands. They let him leave to collect souls who’ve been damned, but then they make him come back. Jonah and I met him during the blizzard when he came to get Stan Manggold. How was I going to explain that to you? You’d have looked at me like you’re looking at me right now.”
“The Lowlands? What is that?” said Val. “Are you talking about hell?”
“Yes, but—” said Zoe.
“ ‘Yes, but’?” said Val. “He’s from hell? How is that not a deal breaker?”
“I’m with Val, dawg,” said Dallas. “You dumped me because I like sports.”
“X was born there, okay?” said Zoe. “He doesn’t know who his parents are—they’re somewhere else in the Lowlands, which are gigantic, I guess. He grew up in a prison cell. I’m the first person his own age he’s ever talked to, probably. I know I’m the first person who ever held him or kissed him …”