It was 3pm. Mom, Lana, and Lucy had been gone for nearly an hour. Luna hoped they would stay longer, but she understood that they couldn't. Mom had three funerals to plan, after all.

She and Lincoln were watching a rerun of Impractical Jokers on TruTV. They held each other and tried to forget the past twenty-four hours (had it really only been one day?) "You don't have to stay," Lincoln had said earlier.

"Yes I do," she replied. "You were there when I needed you, and I couldn't call myself your sister if I didn't do the same. Plus..."

"What?"

She sighed and tried to collect her thoughts. She could articulate herself fine in her music, but when it came to talking, she sometimes struggled. "It's, like...I don't know. Here it's all on pause, you know? Once we go home it starts and...becomes real?"

"I know what you mean," he said; he usually did understand her. "It's easier to focus on here and now. At home..."

"Yeah," she said, nodding.

Neither had spoken since, content simply to sit in comfortable silence. Luna surprised herself when she said, "It's scary how quickly things can change. One minute everything's okay, then your life's upside down."

"It's weird," he agreed. "I mean, something that big...you don't expect it to happen like that."

"I still can't believe they're gone." She closed her eyes and successfully held the tears back.

"It doesn't seem real." He sighed. "I feel bad because I haven't even really cried. I don't...I just don't feel it. You know? I know in my head they're gone, but not in my heart."

"I wish I felt like that," Luna said, and uttered a forced laugh. "I feel like I'm falling apart."

"I wish I felt like you," Lincoln said, "it's like I don't even care."

That brought the tears, and Luna held him. "Dude, don't think like that. Of course you care. You're just in shock."

"I feel like a piece of shit," Lincoln said through his tears.

"You're not a piece of shit," Luna said. "You just have to adjust. Everyone gets there in their own time."

Lincoln gripped her arm. "But I love them. Why am I not falling apart like you?"

"You just have to get there on your own. I know you love them, but people don't all grieve the same. I can guarantee you Lynn punched a hole in the wall when mom told her. When mom told me, I went so limp I couldn't make a fist if my life depended on it. I bet Lisa didn't cry. And she might not cry until the funeral, or even for months."

Lincoln took a deep, watery breath and pushed it out. "I guess," he said miserably. He looked up at her, unshed tears standing in his eyes. Luna's heart broke, and she leaned her forehead against his.

"We're all hurting. We just show it in different ways."

"Remember when Lucy came in and said she loved me?"

Luna nodded. "She did the same when she saw me."

"It kind of surprised me. She's said it before, but not often."

Nodding, Luna said, "I didn't expect it either, but I get it."

"I just...I've been thinking. What was the last thing you said to Lori? Lola? Dad?"

Luna opened her mouth to speak, but closed it. She couldn't remember. She thought back to that day. The last time she could recall seeing Lola before getting into the car was when she came storming out of hers and Lana's room after an argument. "Whoa, WWIII again?" Luna asked (or remembered asking). "She's impossible," Lola huffed.

Not long after that, dad called up the stairs that it was time to go get mom. "Sure thing, dad, just give me a sec!" Did she talk to him after that? Then Lori...didn't Lori brush past her in the hall without saying sorry? "Rude much?" Luna asked.

Those were the last things she ever said to three of the most important people in her life. She would never talk to them again.

That made her want to cry, but she kept it together, for Lincoln's sake. "Nothing important," she said glumly.

"Right? I think..." he trailed off and squeezed her arm. She looked up at him. "I love you, Luna. I want you to know that."

She swallowed around a lump in her throat, an errant tear slipping through her defenses. "I love you too, Lincoln. You mean the world to me."

For a long time after that, they held each other's hand and looked at the TV, neither actually seeing. Luna ran through the last conversations she'd had with each member of her family, remembering some, completely forgetting others. It's amazing how much banality there is in life, how much small talk and chit-chat even among people who loved each other dearly. Then again, no one ever expects a random conversation with their daughter or husband or sister to be the last one they'll ever have. Luna certainly didn't expect her conversations yesterday to be the last she would have with her father and two of her sisters. Lincoln was right. It didn't feel real. In the movies, death is a big to-do. People say tearful goodbyes and there's a sense of impending dread in the atmosphere. It doesn't just happen like a lightning bolt from the sky. No one ever said, "Get milk" to their wife only to have her dead five minutes later.

Lincoln wracked his brain trying to remember the last things he'd said to dad, Lola, and Lori, but couldn't. Everything beyond waking in the van with his leg pinned under the seat was hazy. He vaguely recalled Lana and Lola slapping fighting across his lap, then rolling. He thought he remembered Luan getting to the sweet spot before him and saying it was taken, but he couldn't be sure. Everything from yesterday had the murky, abstract quality of dreams. Did it really matter what he said, though? Whatever it was, it wasn't enough, it wasn't what he should have said. He should have told Lola, Lori, and his father that he loved them. He should have told them how much they meant to him, and how much he appreciated them. But he didn't. He probably said something stupid like "Cut it out, Lola!" or "Okay, dad!" His last chance to talk to them, and he wasted it. Now he'd never get the opportunity again.

"I'm gonna go get a soda from the vending machine," Luna said, slipping away from him and getting up. "You want something?"

"Is there a candy machine?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"I could go for some chocolate."

Luna smiled. "You got it, bro."


It's not fair...it's not fair and you know it.

"I know no such thing," she muttered to herself. She was sitting at her lab, her arms crossed and her head down. She tried to pick up the research she was conducting the previous afternoon, but he heart wasn't in it. In fact, the sight of her test tubes, beakers, and other equipment made her anxious.

It was an accident. It's not her fault.

"Partly, yes, it is."

Like her siblings, Lisa was elated that Lucy and Lana were coming home, and waited for them in the living room with everyone else. When they came through the door and she laid eyes on Lana, however, she flashed back to the van. The image was so vivid, so lifelike, that it might as well have been time travel: Lana and Lola were bickering in the back. Their father looked into the rearview mirror. "Knock it off!"

Then Luna screamed, and they flipped over. Lisa could feel her nose hitting the seat, could hear the windows shattering as the roof caved in. When she came back to herself, her heart was racing and her breathing was ragged.

"Lisa, honey, are you okay?" mom asked, coming over and sitting next to her.

"I'm fine," Lisa lied, "I just...I need to be alone."

Without waiting for a reply, she got up, slipped into the kitchen, and went up the back stairs to avoid her sisters. In her room, she sat at her lab and tried to quell the anger rising in her chest. It's her fault. If she and Lola hadn't been fighting, none of this would be happening.

As the afternoon progressed, she talked herself out of the worst of her rage. Lana (and Lola) did not mean for it to happen. Then again, the captain of the Titanic didn't mean to sail into an iceberg, but that probably wouldn't have been much consolation to the people freezing to death in the water. A part of her said she should drop it. Don't assign blame. Don't point fingers. You and your family need to draw close now more than ever. Another part, a slightly bigger part, wanted Lana to take a long walk off a short pier.

Despite Lisa's anger, that bothered her.

Their petty squabbling forced our father to divert his attention from the road, delaying his reaction time. Had he been watching the road instead of mediating a vapid feud, he may have avoided the hazard in time.

But maybe he wouldn't have. How much warning would he have had had he been watching the road? Milliseconds. If that. And the shock of watching tragedy unfold before him may, theoretically, have led him to react in a manner similar to the one he did react in.

And even if it is partially her fault, she needs you, and you need her. She must be suffering more than any of us, as she lost a twin, and losing a twin is like losing an extension of yourself.

A knock came at the door, and Lisa jumped. "Come in."

"It's me," Lucy said, coming in.

"Hey, Lise," Lana added. Lisa prickled at the sound of her voice, but forced her emotions down.

"How are you doing?" Lucy asked.

"As well as can be expected," Lisa replied. She turned. Lucy and Lana were standing in the doorway, holding hands.

"I just wanted to say I love you," Lucy said, mildly surprising Lisa.

"I love you too," Lana said.

Lisa nodded. "I love the both of you as well." She got up, went to her sisters, and hugged them.


Rita Loud met with Gerald Clarke, of Clarke and Hunter Funeral Home, at 5pm that afternoon. They had spoken earlier on the phone, and Rita was surprised to see that the small, wispy voice belonged to a large man with jowls and a military buzzcut. He was wearing a black suit with a red tie, and when she entered, he came over to her, moving with the agility and grace of a much smaller man.

"Mrs. Loud? I'm Gerald Clark." They shook, his hand swallowing hers, his grip surprisingly delicate. "Come right this we and we can discuss your needs."

In his office, Clarke sat and pushed a folder across the shiny plain of his desk. "First of all, I want to offer you my sincerest condolences. I know words are insufficient at a time like this, but we here at Clarke and Hunter are dedicated to providing quality services to our clients. Here - " he opened the folder – "is a selection of the products and services we offer. Take as much time as you need."

Rita opened the folder with trembling hands and leafed through it. There were pictures of coffins. Coffins everywhere. Big ones. Little ones. Simple ones. Ornate ones. She felt tears welling in her eyes and bit down on the inside of her lip so hard she winced.

"I don't have a lot of money to spend," she said. "I feel so terrible for worrying about money at a time like this."

"Don't. 9 times out of 10 finances are a concern. We do offer a generous payment plan, and if you choose to go with one of our less expensive options, your loved ones will receive quality, dignified care regardless."

I never thought I'd be coffin shopping, she thought as she sighed. Of course she knew that one day Lynn Sr. would die. Maybe after her, maybe before. But that was so far in the future she could barely see it. It was a thought for another time, another decade. As for her children...

She shut that thought off. She selected three caskets. They were simple, silver with black inlay. She pointed them out to Clarke, and he nodded. "A very good choice," he said. "Would you like a lining?"

"Uh..." she thought. Did it matter? Did it really matter? "Yes," she finally said. "I want blue for my daughter Lori..." she choked. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Clarke said. He handed her a tissue and she took it with a nod.

"Pink for Lola. It was her favorite color." She took a deep breath. "And white for Lynn."

Clarke nodded and wrote down her selections. "We will handle everything, naturally," he said, setting down his pen. "Have you given thought to when you'd like the funeral to be?"

"No," Rita said. "My son's still in the hospital and I want him to be there. My daughter too, but I don't know if that will be possible. My son should be out in a week."

"Alright, we can make those arrangements at a later time." Clarke sat aside the folder. "Do you have any questions?"

Rita shook her head. "No." She could have thought of some, but she suddenly didn't want to be here anymore, surrounded by death and bereavement.

Outside, the summer sun fell impotently against her skin. She was cold, but it was a cold not of body but of spirit. She crossed her arms and rubbed herself. She felt sick. Harold was waiting in the car, and when she walked over, he looked up from a magazine. "Are you finished?"

"Yes," she said, and got in.

"Is there anywhere else you need me to take you? I'm all yours."

"I-I need to take some things to Lincoln and Luna. And I want to see Luan. If you don't mind."

"Not at all," Howard replied, backing out of the space.

"Thank you," Rita said, "I really appreciate it."

Harold patted her on the knee. "It's the least I can do."


She sat on her bed, her back against the wall. She stared at the other side of the room, her eyes leaking and her nose aching. There were pictures of Lola everywhere, many of them professional studio portraits, but some of them candid snapshots she deemed "good enough" for display. Over there, on a shelf, were her trophies, tiaras, ribbons, and plaques. For twenty-four hours, Lana Loud's mind had been occupied with worry over her family and with the prospect of seeing them. Now that she had reached that destination, she had nothing to focus on but the gnawing emptiness in the pit of her stomach. She missed her father and she missed Lori, but Lola...Lola was different. She was Lola and Lola was her. Now Lola was gone and she was alone. She held up her hand and looked at it. It might as well have been you, she thought.

Restless and stricken, she drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. The pain was bad. The grief. But the feeling of missing something was worse. It was a gasping, quivering need that could never be filled, a thirst that could never be quenched.

And it's my fault. It's all my fault.

She wept desolately.


Sometime in the night, Lincoln Loud dreamed he heard sobbing in the dark.

"What's wrong?" he asked groggily.

"I had a bad dream," Luna said. He could barely make out her face in the dark. Her eyes were wide. "You died."

Those words struck him with the force of a fist; in the drugged netherworld between sleep and consciousness, they seemed an omen.

Luna touched his face. "I love you so much, Lincoln."

"I love you too."

The world swam away and he knew no more. Next to him, Luna watched him sleep, her heart swelling with love. She stroked his cheek and listened to the sound of his breathing. The dream nagged at the edges of her mind, but she forced it away. She couldn't stand the thought of losing him. If she entertained it, she would go crazy and never, ever come back.