I always thought the CD was meant for the people laid up in coffins, with floral arrangements and bouquets and guest books—and maybe it was. But maybe it was for the living, too. To keep us moving forward. Ben watched with a baffled look, so misplaced in a funeral home filled with light and sound, and before I could stop myself I reached out to try to take his hand, to get him to dance with us—when my hand fell through his. He gave a sad sort of smile, and outstretched his hand. “We can pretend.”
