I wasn't surprised to realize that it was closing in on ten when the food was away, and I had a funeral home address plugged into my phone.
It was right about then that Lenny rolled out of bed, going into her bathroom.
I heard the shower turn on, and set to making her something simple to eat - some English muffins with a bit of butter and jelly.
She stopped short on her way out into the kitchen.
"Oh," she said, brows drawn together, eyes swollen, skin down her cheeks still raw-looking from all the tears. "You're here."
"Of course I'm here," I said, holding out a plate.
"Don't say you're not hungry. I know you aren't, but you still need to choke some of this down."
She took the plate, going over toward the couch. "Do you have my phone? I need to call around and find..."
"I got the address to the best funeral home in the area, love. They are expecting us. So whenever you are ready."
She said nothing for a long time, systematically pulling apart her muffins and eating little bits of them.
Not much.
But it was something.
I could deal with that.
She was just so fucking thin already. She really couldn't afford to lose any weight.
"Tulips."
"What, love?" I asked, sure I misheard her.
"Letha liked tulips."
"Okay," I agreed. "There will be tulips."
She nodded a bit firmly at that, like it was important, like it was a big weight off.
I guess at this point, every little thing would feel like that.
"Okay. I want to go," she declared, standing suddenly.
"Lenny, there's no ru—"
"I need to get this part over with," she declared, moving toward the door to find her boots, stabbing her feet into it, then reaching for her jacket.
"Okay," I agreed, finding my phone and keys, and following her out, finding her already halfway down the hallway by the time I got out the door.
"Thank you again," the mom from earlier said, the baby fast asleep in a stroller as they made their way out.
"Don't mention it," I said, rushing to catch up with Lenny.
I wasn't sure what this stage of grief was, and I didn't know how to handle it. I guess my job was just to be there, to follow her through it.
We got there just four minutes later, Lenny barely remembering to take off her helmet in her rush to get inside and get it over with.
I barely even got to notice where the hell we were going, not wanting to lose her down the winding hall toward the back where she somehow guessed was the office.
"Oh," she said, shocking back, hitting me in the chest. "I thought they were expecting us."
"They are. This is Summer," I said, putting an arm around her, giving her a squeeze. "She is going to help with all the stupid little details you want nothing to do with."
"Oh," she said again, and I wasn't sure what kind of 'oh' it was.
So I looked over at Summer instead. "She wants tulips."
"Tulips," Summer agreed, giving Lenny a firm nod, no fake smiles in sight, something I knew that Lenny in her right mind would appreciate. "Done."
"We were wondering what day and time works for you for the wake."
"No wake," Lenny snapped quickly, too quickly.
But the funeral director, more accustomed to the various forms of grief than I was, was completely unfazed by the tone.
Lenny, seeming to sense the discomfort in the room, went on, "Letha was creeped out by wakes. She made me promise I would never let someone look at her inside a casket with bad makeup making her look like a wax figure. I promised her," she said, turning to look at me, eyes pleading.
"Love, whatever you want. No one is forcing you into anything."
Her eyes seemed to scream Except bury my sister.
"No wake," Summer agreed. "Lenny, do you want to sit down and look at some pictures?" she asked, leaving off the word we all knew and inwardly cringed at.
Caskets.
Summer was much better at subtlety than I was. Maybe it had to do with having kids, and needing to shade the truth a bit about their father's business.
Half an hour later, Lenny had picked out an ivory casket with a light pink interior.
Letha liked girly stuff.
The plot was chosen already, apparently, Letha's father had purchased three of them, one for himself, which he currently occupied, one for his wife, who Lenny realized she needed to contact, but Summer assured her that she could handle that for her, and then one for his daughter.
I couldn't help but be angry again for the complete disregard the man who had been a father figure for her for four years of her life showed for Lenny.
Summer had chosen the passages to be read with the only input from Lenny being Nothing religious. Letha was spiritual, not religious.
Tulips had already been chosen, so all that was left was a date, time, and a few minor details that Summer assured Lenny she could handle.