During Aunt Betty’s wake Christian’s father told him how proud he was of him. “You’re a special boy,” he had said. “You’re my son. I love you. Stay strong. Don’t let anyone bully you.”
Christian didn’t understand what he was saying, and by the time he reached the small room where Aunt Betty was laid out in a shiny brown casket, Christian clung to his mother’s loose-fitting skirt, his hands clutching the hem so hard his hands were hurting.
Henry walked off to meet other family members who had flown in from California, Arizona, and San Francisco for the wake and funeral. Lori bent down and asked Christian if he was feeling well. Christian nodded, inhaling her sweet-scented perfume. She smelled like roses and honeysuckle and mint leaves from the flowerbeds in her garden.
“Do you want to se
