(Author's note: this chapter runs concurrent with chapters 26 and 27 in Bending in the Archer's Hand, so if you're reading them both, you can read either chapter first. -amy


Sarah's usual seat was beside Frances in homeroom, but today the seat was empty. She wondered where she was. The dream of last night hovered just at the edges of her consciousness, along with the throbbing ache of her finger, now cleaned and disinfected and properly clad in a clear band-aid. It made her want to look at Sarah more closely, to see if there really was only one of her - and if there was, which one was it?

While they were discussing their current events articles, Principal Hartford appeared. He stepped through the door and spoke in an undertone to Mr. Loughner, who turned ash-grey and sank down in his chair.

"Class," said the principal, turning to face them, and his voice was quiet and respectful. "I'm sad to say I am the bearer of bad news. Sarah Puckerman's mother passed away last night."

A shocked, uneasy silence spread over the room. Frances sat up taller in her seat, leaning forward. "Principal Hartford," she said, raising her hand at the same time she spoke, but it didn't look like she was going to get reprimanded for that. "What happened?"

"Was she in a car accident?" asked Lindsay, across the room.

"The details are personal," said the principal, "but she was sick, and the doctors at St. Mary's are learning more about the cause of death. Sarah is home with her family today."

What family? Frances wondered. Now she had no parents at all. But the answer came to her, clear as day: She's at Kurt's house. Of course.

"We're going to need to be supportive of Sarah when she returns to class," Mr. Loughner said. "She'll be going through a lot. Some of you have lost loved ones."

"My grandfather died last year," said Brian, nodding, and other students chimed in with relatives who had passed away. Frances found herself stuck on the phrase lost, when what was really meant was that they died. They went somewhere, didn't they? She hoped Sarah's mother wasn't really lost, no matter how much of a (hushed word don't say it) slut she had been. It would be terrible to be somewhere new and scary and have no one.

"There will be a funeral service this afternoon at the Temple Beth Israel-Shaare Zedek," Principal Hartford said. "Any of you who wish to attend will be given a pass to miss classes, but you will need a parent to attend with you."

"Are you going to go?" Brian asked her in a low voice. Frances must have given him a funny look, because he shrugged and added, "What? You two are, like, friends or something, right?"

Friends or something. Frances imagined asking her mother if she could go to Sarah Puckerman's mother's funeral, and wondered what she'd say. Probably would ask if any of Frances' other friends were going to go. As though it were a social occasion. She felt an ornery, pokey part of her rear its indignant head, and she heard herself saying, "Yes, I'm going."

"Do you want me to go too?" Brian looked reluctant, but she knew he was a nice guy, and he would go if she asked him to.

"No, that's all right," she said, and that's when she knew she was going to do this, was going to sneak out by herself, without a grown-up, and was going to lie to Brian and probably lots of other people in order to be able to do it. She thought, with a delicious shiver, that Sarah would probably be impressed. Not that she'd care, right now, with her mother being lost and everything.

"I don't know what to say to her," she said. Mr. Loughner came over and sat on Sarah's empty desk, gazing down at her. He looked sad.

"It's hard to know what to say when a friend's family member dies," he said. "Even adults aren't always sure what to do or say. It can feel awkward, and that's okay."

Frances had attended one funeral before, when she was eight and her great-aunt Lottie died. She hadn't known her at all, and neither apparently had many of the people at the funeral service. There was a lot of walking around talking to people, and there was dessert. Frances remembered she had been bored, but had waited politely for her mother to say "I'm sorry" and "We'll miss her" lots of times before it was time to go. She had only seen the body from far away, across the room, and it had just looked like her great-aunt was sleeping in a fancy casket. It hadn't made much of an impression on her - but she didn't think this was going to be like that. This was Sarah's mother.

"You could say you're sorry for her loss," he added. "That's a customary phrase."

The rest of the day passed slowly, and Frances felt odd to be at school at all, as though she were just biding her time until the real event of the day could occur. At least five other people asked her if she were going to the funeral, and when she asked each one why, they all said, "I thought you two were friends."

Why would you think that? she wanted to say, with genuine curiosity, because as of last night at 12:56 am, when she'd woken gasping in the night, she was pretty darn sure she wasn't at all interested in being Sarah's friend. So why did everybody think she was? She never attended her birthday parties or went over to her house after school - though she didn't think anyone else did those things with Sarah, either. It made her feel a little faint to imagine being invited to Sarah's house. Then she experienced the shock that went with the idea that Sarah had no house anymore, because she had no parents. It was terrifying in a way she'd never felt before.

But Frances noticed that in three of her classes that day, the seat that was customarily taken by Sarah happened to be next to hers, either one behind or one ahead or to the right or left of her. That hadn't occurred by accident, had it? She wondered if had been herself or Sarah who had chosen their seats. Maybe it had been a little bit of both.

Sneaking out was easier than she'd expected. Perhaps it was that all the teachers were a little on edge about a parent dying, or perhaps it was that Frances herself was a trustworthy person. But nobody in the office blinked when she told them, "My mother's coming to pick me up. Can I sign myself out?"

She walked out to the parking lot, carrying her bag, and made her way down the sidewalk toward town. She knew where the temple was, and it wasn't too far from the school, but there was quite a bit of snow on the ground. By the time she got there, her calf-high boots were wet, and she was shivering through her thin jacket. She had begun to wonder why she was doing this at all.

She spotted the blue SUV before she saw Kurt, but he found her, bundled up in his natty grey coat and fedora, and gave her a wan smile. "Frances, right?" he said as she hurried across the street, against the light traffic. She nodded, and he glanced past the crowd into the brick building. "I think Sarah's inside."

I'm not here to see her, she wanted to say, but she nodded again and followed him into the synagogue. It was crowded with kids and adults, and she only knew a handful of them. The tall boy with the dreamy eyes was there, wearing his letterman jacket, and she recognized Danielle Rutherford with her older brother Matt. She didn't see Sarah's brother, the dangerous-looking one with the mohawk, but she figured he must be here somewhere, since it was all about his mother and all. She didn't see Sarah, either.

It wasn't until Kurt led her past the crowd to the other side that Frances realized Sarah was there, standing along the wall around the corner, silent and almost entirely motionless. Her eyes flickered over the assembled group, watching. She was wearing a plain black dress that made her legs and arms look skinny, and a floppy black velvet hat, and black high tops with green and blue and purple striped tights underneath. Frances almost turned around and left her there because she definitely did not look like she wanted to be disturbed. But Kurt said, "Sarah," and she turned her head and saw Frances. She blinked.

"Hi," Sarah said.

Frances still didn't know exactly why she was there, but that look on Sarah's face made her hurt inside - as though it was the most unexpected thing in the world that somebody would be here that Sarah knew. "Hi," she said.

"I need to get back to - I need to find -" said Kurt, gesturing behind himself, and Sarah nodded, waving him on.

"It's okay."

He gave Frances one more tight smile and disappeared into the milling crowd. Frances thought desperately about what to say.

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said.

Sarah laughed, an unexpected sound. "No loss," she said, kicking the bricks of the wall behind her. "Trust me. She wasn't worth much."

"How can you say that?" Frances gasped, shocked. "Your mother?"

"My Ma wasn't much of a mother," Sarah said. "She pretty much messed up everything she did having to do with us. I don't miss her at all."

This was worse than Frances had expected. "Not at all?" she said, feeling sick for Sarah and not really understanding why. "But everybody needs a parent, at least one."

"I don't," Sarah said stoutly, crossing her arms. "My brother raised me, as best as he could. He's as fucked up as Ma, but at least he knows how to love me."

Frances flinched a little at the f-word, especially in a surrounding such as this, which seemed to be something like a church, but without any crosses. "I don't know if a brother's enough," she said doubtfully.

"Well, it's all I had, okay?" Sarah shouted back, and Frances recoiled, pressing herself against the wall, and Sarah sighed loud and took off toward the EXIT sign at the end of the hall.

"Sarah," she called desperately, and followed her, boots squishing as she walked. They had not held up well to a walk through the snow.

"What?" Sarah snapped. She didn't turn around, but she did stop in the middle of the hallway, hands flexing and back tense.

"I don't - I don't know what else to say." Frances circled her so she was standing in front of her, facing back down the hallway. She could barely see Sarah's face. The lights in the synagogue were lit, but they were in darkness, long shadows hiding them from the rest of the gathered crowd.

"I don't want to go out there," Sarah said in a low voice.

Frances glanced around them. "I - I don't think anybody knows we're here. We can just stay here if you want."

"No, I can't," said Sarah. She sighed. "I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"I think you're allowed," Frances said. "I think this counts as a time when you're allowed."

Even in the dim hallway, Frances could see Sarah's face become still and pale. "I'm not allowed," she insisted, shaking her head. "I can't. I've got to keep it together."

Frances took another step toward her. "Why?"

"Because nobody else will," she said, more desperately now.

"Nobody's going to see," Frances whispered. She was close enough now to reach out and touch her, but she wasn't going to do that.

"I will," Sarah insisted. "I'm the one who has to live with me." She held out a hand, warding Frances away. "Don't."

"I won't," Frances said, but she did, taking another step, and one more, until she was right next to Sarah, close enough to touch her sleeve.

Sarah tore her big floppy hat off her head and twisted it in her hands. "I don't know why they're bothering with this," she said, viciously. Frances could see her eyes were red and swollen. "She was a terrible person. There's nothing good to celebrate about her life. Why the fuck are we even here?"

This was an entirely different Sarah than Frances had seen before, different than the one from the hallway or the one from Kurt's SUV, even from the hundreds in her dreams. It hurt more than the cut on her finger to see Sarah like this. Frances grasped desperately at something, anything, to tell her that would give her an answer to her awful questions.

"It's not for her," she said. "It's for you. You're the one who's alive."

Sarah stared at her with hollow eyes. "Not really," she choked. "I'm not, really."

She wrapped her arms around her elbows and held herself, and when Frances moved a fraction closer, she drew back an equal fraction. Frances felt a rush of realization.

"You think you don't need anybody, but you do," she accused. "Everybody does."

"I can't." Sarah held herself tighter. "Because - because what if nobody's there?"

"Everybody's there for you," Frances said, outraged. "Everybody loves you."

"Nobody who matters," Sarah muttered.

Frances gave up trying. She grasped Sarah's hand, and when Sarah tried to pull away, she squeezed it harder and said crossly, "Your brother matters."

"Yeah, and have you seen him here today? Noah's not letting anybody take care of him, not now." She looked contemptuous, but that was better than self-hatred or loneliness. "Timmy, maybe, but he's not looking to stick around long-term. He's got his own life."

She tried again. "Kurt matters."

That got her. Sarah's eyes softened, and as her shoulders relaxed, she leaned in, touching elbows and wrists and forearms together. It startled Frances at first, but she recovered, letting Sarah have the contact, and waited for Sarah to acknowledge it.

"Yeah," she said finally. "He does."

She squeezed her hand. "Who else?"

Sarah thought. "Mr. Hummel," she said, then added, "Kurt's dad. And Mrs. Hudson, Finn's mom... and Finn, if he ever gets his head out of his ass and apologizes to Noah."

"Okay. That's more than enough." Frances glared at her. "They're alive, too, just like you."

Sarah nodded grudgingly. "Okay, okay." Her lips broke in a sudden smile, and Frances had to look away. She tried to let go of Sarah's hand, but their fingers were tangled together. It would take way too much effort to pull them apart now.

You can't make me, she thought, but it was faint, like an echo, and tempered by the good natured patience of Sarah's smile and the web of their fingers. Okay, okay, said her mirror self. Maybe she did like her.

It was impossible to tell whether Sarah was tugging Frances or she was tugging Sarah, but they made their way back down the hall toward the light of the synagogue. The service had begun, and everyone was already inside - everyone except a bald-headed man wearing a ballcap, who stood in the lobby like a sentry. When he saw Sarah, he visibly relaxed.

"I was starting to think you'd holed up somewhere," he said. "I wouldn't blame you if you had. These religious ceremonies give me the creeps."

"This is a nice place, Mr. Hummel," Sarah said, grinning at him. "You don't have to worry about that."

"Well, I guess you'll have to give me a little time to get used to it. I haven't been to church in over seven years." He aimed his kind eyes at Frances. "Who's this?"

"This is my friend, Frances," Sarah said, and Frances turned toward her, feeling the impact of the word friend, and the speaking of her name.

"Pleased to meet you," he said, and shook her hand solemnly. It was the hand with the paper cut, and it hurt a little in his grip, but then it was okay. Then she realized where she'd seen those eyes before.

"You're Kurt's dad," she said, and he smiled and nodded.

"You ever been to a Jewish ceremony before?" Sarah asked her.

"No," Frances said. "My family's Catholic."

"I'm going to make sure the driver of the hearse is ready," said Mr. Hummel. "We're heading to the cemetery after this is over, and I don't think they realize just how many cars we've got, driving the seven of us. Er - eight?" He paused. "You going to ride with us, Frances?"

"I don't think so," she said, startled.

Sarah touched Mr. Hummel on the shoulder. "Have you seen Noah?"

He shook his head slowly. "I think you're going to have to let him take his time with this one, Sar. He's hurting in ways I can't even imagine."

Noah. Her brother. Kurt's boyfriend. Frances watched them in their shared pain, putting the pieces together slowly like a delicate puzzle. Another Sarah, another mirror.

"Well, I'm gonna leave the God stuff to you girls," Mr. Hummel said, curving his arm around Sarah briefly, and the way she accepted the half-hug reminded her strongly of the connection she'd seen between Sarah and Kurt in the car. Like father, like son. "Go on, there's room in the back there. Good to meet you, Frances."

"Thank you," she said. She liked him, this ordinary man with the ballcap, and she liked the way he clearly cared for Sarah. It made Frances feel safe, in some way, to know that at least one of the people who mattered loved Sarah that way.

They walked into the synagogue and found a seat in the back row, hands still linked, and they didn't let go for the rest of the service.