Both Mom and Dad tried a few times to knock on the door or whatever, but I just told them I was doing something important.
It took me forever to figure out what I wanted to say, and even then I wasn’t very happy with it.
Before I’d technically finished, I noticed it was 7:40, which meant that I would be late even if I didn’t change,
so in the end I wore baby blue cotton pajama pants, flip-flops, and Gus’s Butler shirt.
I walked out of the room and tried to go right past them, but my dad said, “You can’t leave the house without permission.”
“Oh, my God, Dad. He wanted me to write him a eulogy, okay? I’ll be home every. Freaking. Night. Starting any day now, okay?”
That finally shut them up. It took the entire drive to calm down about my parents.
I pulled up around the back of the church and parked in the semicircular driveway behind Augustus’s car.
The back door to the church was held open by a fist-size rock.
Inside, I contemplated taking the stairs but decided to wait for the ancient creaking elevator.
When the elevator doors unscrolled, I was in the Support Group room, the chairs arranged in the same circle.
But now I saw only Gus in a wheelchair, ghoulishly thin. He was facing me from the center of the circle.
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