“As long as it doesn’t have a face, I’m good. But no broccoli. I’m not ready to die just yet. Besides, it gives me gas.”
“I thought girls didn’t get gas.”
“We don’t,” she said primly.
“That’s right. You get ‘the vapor.’”
“Get the vapor?”
“That’s what a Southern lady would say. I’ve had a vapor. A Southern lady would never be so crass as to admit she farted. Anyway. I’m not sure what we’re going to do for dinner. Mr. Jack’s been over to his mama’s house all day. They have to make arrangements.”
“Funeral arrangements, you mean.”
“Yes.”
She fell silent as a frown creased her face.
“We’ll just try to stay out of their way,” I said softly, putting my hand on her shoulder.
“Do I have to go to the funeral?”
“I’m sure Mr. Jack would appreciate it very much if you did.”
“It’s so stupid.”
“What is?”
“Funerals.”
“Why do you say that?”