the car with Lainie and Martha (who’d taken a math class with Kelly in high school) and they all stood in line at the wake, which was incredibly crowded, and then talked to Kelly’s mom, who looked really drugged up, hugged Kelly, and then stood and looked at the dead body at the front of the room.
“Doesn’t he look great?” Kelly’s mom said.
No, he didn’t look great. He looked dead. Kelly’s mom grabbed Claire’s hand, although Claire was pretty sure that she didn’t know who she was. Lainie, meanwhile, was nodding and telling stories and saying gracious things, like she was an expert at wakes now.
Claire hated wakes. It was a bizarre tradition to stand around and look at a corpse. And so, as soon as she could, Claire excused herself and walked outside and around the corner of the building, where she almost ran right into Fran Angelo, leaning against the wall, his head tilted back and his eyes closed as he smoked a cigarette.
For a second, Claire wondered what he was doing there. Was everyone in town required to go to this thing? Then she remembered that he was related to Kelly somehow, a cousin or a second cousin or something like that.
“Hey,” Claire said. He opened his eyes, but didn’t look all that surprised to see her, like he’d been waiting for someone to come find him. He smiled at her and she looked at the ground.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“Not much. Just, you know.” Claire motioned toward the wall of the funeral home, like that explained everything. She shifted from one leg to the other, hating that he made her feel like she was fifteen again.
“I haven’t gone in yet,” Fran said. “I hate wakes.”
“Me too. I was just thinking the exact same thing.”
“Do you want a cigarette?” He shook the pack and held it out to her.
“I don’t really smoke anymore,” she said. “But sure.” She didn’t bother to explain that she’d never really smoked in the first place, except when she was drunk and sometimes in college if she was bored. But now seemed like an appropriate time to smoke, and so she took one out of the pack and leaned forward to let Fran light it. She remembered parties in high school, clumps of teenagers standing around a backyard, smoking and looking bored. She inhaled and felt dizzy almost immediately. Fran smoked Reds, which seemed like a serious, old-man cigarette. He would probably smoke for the rest of his life.
“I was going to call you to hang out,” Fran said, “but then I realized I never got your number the other day.”
“Oh really?” Claire said. She sounded like an idiot. A teenage idiot.
“Yeah, we should get together.” He reached into his pocket, pulled his phone out and handed it to Claire.
“So, should I put my number in?” she asked. He nodded and she typed herself into Fran Angelo’s phone.
“I should probably go in, I guess.” He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, aiming his face at the sky. Claire remembered him in high school, how he was always tilting his face up like that to drop Visine into his eyes, like he was stoned or wanted people to think he was.
“Okay,” Claire said. “I’ll see you.”
Fran opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ll call you,” he said. He walked back toward the front door of the funeral home, and left Claire standing there, holding her still-burning cigarette.
Lainie came out of the funeral home as Fran was going in. Claire walked around the corner of the building and called out to Lainie.
“Hey,” Lainie said. “I wasn’t sure where you went. Are you smoking?”
“Not really,” Claire said. She dropped the cigarette on the ground. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah. We just have to wait for Martha.”
“What’s she doing in there? Making plans to go to the burial with the family?”
“She’s just saying good-bye to a couple people. What were you doing out here anyway?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t want to be in there anymore. I hate wakes.”
“I don’t think anyone really likes them,” Lainie said.
“Martha,” Claire said. “I think Martha likes them.”
FRAN CALLED CLAIRE TWO DAYS LATER and invited her over. She’d lost her breath for a second when she heard his voice on the phone, and it was hard to recover and answer him when he said simply, “Want to hang out?”
“Sure,” Claire said. And then, “Sorry, I’m out of breath. I just got back from a run.”
“Cool,” Fran said.
Fran was living in