Chapter 24
I was released from the hospital the day before Josh’s funeral, more exhausted than hurt, although I would walk with a crutch shoved up into my right armpit for a few days while the ankle I had apparently twisted jumping onto the slide healed, and I had scrapes across my face like a first grader who fell off his bike. I don’t remember crying in the hospital, and I haven’t cried about it since then, but the day of the funeral I cried at the drop of a hat, pretty much constantly. When I saw Maka, I cried. When I saw the fiancée for the first time, I cried. When I saw Gladys Chao and Cee Cee and a hundred other flight attendants packed into the back of the synagogue in their uniforms, I cried. And when I saw the picture of Josh they had blown up and set on an easel near his casket
