Would they bury her in blue jeans? Or maybe that blue jumper and the flowery blouse she'd worn Easter. That would be nice.
People might snicker at the blue jeans, and he didn't want anyone to snicker at Leslie when she was dead.
Bill came into the room. P. T. slid off Jess's lap and went to him. The man leaned down and rubbed the dog's back.
Jess stood up. “Jess.” Bill came over to him and put his arms around him as though he had been Leslie instead of himself.
Bill held him close, so that a button on his sweater was pressing painfully into Jess's forehead,
but as uncomfortable as he was, Jess didn't move.
He could feel Bill's body shaking, and he was afraid that if he looked up he would see Bill crying, too.
He didn't want to see Bill crying. He wanted to get out of this house. It was smothering him.
Why wasn't Leslie here to help him out of this? Why didn't she come running in and make everyone laugh again?
You think it's so great to die and make everyone cry and carry on. Well, it ain't.
“She loved you, you know.” He could tell from Bill's voice that he was crying.
“She told me once that if it weren't for you...” His voice broke completely.
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