Lincoln Loud sat quietly in a folding chair while each one of his sisters filed past Luan's coffin. The line started with Lori and ended with Lisa, who was holding Lilly. Lincoln studied his folded hands, hoping desperately that no one would urge him to "pay his last respects." A part of him wanted to. Once the service was over and the coffin was closed, he would never see Luan again. He knew that. But a much bigger part of him didn't want to see her all laid out, her hands folded atop her chest and her eyes closed, the cloying stench of flowers enshrouding her. He wanted to remember her the way she was, happy and laughing, not dead and painted up in a grotesque approximation of life.
A voice in his head told him that he would regret not seeing her one last time. He looked up, saw Luna leaning over the casket, crying and trying to speak, and decided. He got up and slid into line behind Lisa. Mom and dad were sitting side-by-side in the front row, holding each other and trying to fight back tears. Lincoln sighed.
When it came his turn, he stopped and gazed upon the upturned face of his sister. She looked so peaceful, like she was asleep and would wake up at the slightest sound. He reached out and touched her hand: It was cold, and he shivered.
He opened his mouth to speak, but his lips began to quiver and he knew he was going to cry. "I love you," he said, and broke down. Someone helped him to a chair and he sobbed into his hands.
The service was short. Father Hernandez spoke about the tragedy of youth cut short, and affirmed his belief that Luan was safe now in the loving arms of Christ. Lincoln didn't hear much of it.
When it was over, they piled into the van and followed the hearse to the cemetery. Lincoln stood in between Lori and Leni as the casket was lowered into the ground. Lori rubbed his shoulder and Leni patted his back. Both of their faces were red and tear streaked.
No one spoke on the ride home, grief weighing heavy in the air. When they got home, Lincoln was the first one in the house. In his room, he shut the door and laid down. For a long time, he stared at the ceiling, processing his emotions. Even though he'd seen his sister in repose, even though he watched as she was committed to the earth, it still didn't feel real. He was sure that if he went back out into the hall, she would be there, wearing her stupid Groucho Marx glasses and laughing over some awful pun. The urge to get up and open the door descended upon him, and he had to fight it back. Luan's dead, he told himself, and putting it so plainly, so raw, pushed him over the edge. He grabbed his pillow, put it over his face, and cried.
The next he knew, Luna was shaking him awake. "Dinner's ready," she croaked. Lincoln muttered and sat up. The light falling through the window was the color of blood.
"Alright," he said. Luna squeezed his shoulder and went away, leaving him alone.
Stripping out of his suit, he put on a pair of jeans and an orange polo shirt. As he went down the stairs, he realized that being around everyone else was the last thing he wanted to do.
Dinner was quieter than usual, as it had been since the day Luna found Luan dead. Mom and dad both tried to make conversation, but no one answered in more than a monosyllable. Dad asked Lynn why she didn't go to basketball practice, and Lynn said she just wasn't "feeling" it.
As soon as he was able, Lincoln fled the table and went back to his room, where he sat on his bed, thinking of Luan and smiling wanly at his memories. She wouldn't want him to suffer like this. She would want him to go on.
Sighing, he grabbed a comic book, and tried to read, but his heart wasn't in it. He stretched out on the bed and was soon asleep.