The funeral had been earlier in the day; the image of them carrying out the tiny casket in the drizzling rain – almost dropping it as they slipped on the stairs of the church – was caught in Pryce Billson’s mind as she stood on the back deck of the house, trying to balance the umbrella in the crease of her arm, and light her fifth cigarette of the hour. Everyone was gathered inside the house, enjoying the sandwiches and sweets her mom had made; she had spent the entire night before baking and putting together those sandwiches, placing them on decorative doilies. That was her mother’s way of coping with everything, baking. Somehow sifting sugar and stirring dough got her mind off the grief that she felt.

Inhaling in the deadly smoke, she almost prayed it would consume her lungs, keeping her from clean breathes, and that she would collapse here in the pouring rain. Then the grief would be gone, and then she could move on; you didn’t have to think if you were dead. You were nothing if you were dead.

From behind her, the door to the house opened, and she turned around to see who was here now to give their condolences. It was Caden who walked out onto the slippery deck beside her, Pryce's best friend, immedately giving her a bear hug, holding her for a long moment. As Caden pulled away, Pryce noticed that her long blond hair was down now – it had been stiffly pulled back at the funeral, proper – and the bright pink highlights she had been trying to hide were visible to everyone. “I was looking for you,” she told Pryce, adjusting the collar of the black trench coat she was wearing – two sizes too big, hanging off her thin body – and it felt foreign and uncomfortable to her, “everyone has been asking where you went off to.” Slipping under the cover of the umbrella, neon green and orange, contrasting with their dark and seriously clothing, she pulled the cigarette out of Pryce’s hands and inhaled. She hadn’t smoked since grade eleven, at a party, but she figured today was as good as any day to take it up again.

“I don’t want to see anyone,” Pryce sighed, pulling out another cigarette and lighting up; she hadn’t been a smoker, until this day, and didn’t care if she started now. She didn’t care about anything. “I want to be alone.”

Caden watched her, sighing as she exhaled; she didn’t want to say it, but she was terrified for her friend, scared that she was going to do something stupid. “Well,” she started, taking another inhale, “You might want to get a jacket at least, it’s freezing out here.” She smashed the butt of the cigarette against the railing of the deck, although the pouring rain would have extinguished it quite nicely. Part of her wished her friend would do the same, but she remained stiff and rigid, shivering only slightly in the cold weather around her, inhaling and exhaling.

“I don’t care if I freeze,” her voice was so light, so timid sounding, as though the life she had one had inside of her was slowly being snuffed out. “I don’t care about anything.” The words were terrifying, and the blank look in her eyes scared Caden to the bones; if she had been scared before, seeing Pryce like this, she was even more scared now.

Removing her jacket, she pulled it over Pryce’s shoulders. “Greer wouldn’t want you to give up.” The name seemed foreign slipping off her tongue, like now it should have never been spoken again. Lock up the name in your head, throw away the key; erase everything you knew from your mind. “She would want you to be strong Pryce; she would want you to keep going.” Her friend almost seemed to be robotic, barely moving, or even acknowledging that her friend was speaking to her. She would have rather tuned the world – including Caden – out. The only person she really cared about was dead now.

“Greer is dead.” She replied, emotionless.

Not knowing how to reply to that, Caden stood there for a second watching her friend closely, the way her hand shook as she brought the cigarette to her lips, the way she inhaled and exhaled only smoke. And that look in her eye, that look that said she didn’t care anymore, that she was just as dead. “Come on,” she tried to sound soothing, shifting her body so she was standing in front of Pryce, making sure she couldn’t look away. She held onto the collar of her jacket, looking straight into those eyes – so blank, as though they no longer saw anything – hoping that she could get her point across, without being pushed away like Pryce had pushed everyone else away, “You don’t mean that,” while she didn’t know that, she hoped to god, if there were a god, that he friend didn’t mean it, “You’re just hurt right now.”

Pryce let out a loud, but unfunny, laugh, “Hurt,” she repeated, shaking her head, “I buried my newborn daughter today.”

Caden softened, her body less rigid; although the words would probably mean nothing right now and sound far too cliché, she knew she at least had to let it register in the universe, if only to let herself believe them. Because if she could believe them, then maybe Pryce, eventually, could too. “Everything happens for a reason.”

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Pryce coldly responded, “Fucking bullshit.”

For a moment, nothing was said between the two best friends; nothing could be said. Pryce stood there, with the rain pouring down her umbrella, inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling, hoping the entire time that her next breath would be the last. Caden stood beside her, silently praying to a good she wasn’t even sure she believed in to make his easier, to soften the blow of the situation. It didn’t seem possible to her that a mother could ever get over the situation, or that it was fair for a young child – a baby only mere weeks old – to pass away, but even still she prayed. She prayed that somehow Pryce would recover, she prayed that those words, “everything happens for a reason”, could be more than just words. And she prayed that tomorrow, when they woke up, the entire situation would have been only a horrible nightmare. More than anything she prayed for that. That when the morning light poured through her best friends picture window, that the sound of her daughter crying would come from the nursery her father had built for her, and she once again could hold her daughter in her arms.

From beside her, the sound of soft crying could be heard, and she turned to face her friend; Pryce had tossed the cigarette, her head falling into her hands and she started to bawl. Slipping one arm around her shoulder, she pulled her in close, cradling her head in her arms, feeling soft tears falling against the exposed skin of her shoulders. She wanted to tell her everything would be okay, but the words didn’t seem real enough. No words could comfort her now. Nothing could. So instead she held her, holding her, wishing and praying that she could do anything to help her best friend feel better, and knowing that nothing she could do would ever soften the blow, soften the pain.

Hugging Pryce tightly, she wished she could understand the way the world worked, and how she could stop the most horrible things from happening.