Noah sang, "Gloria," from his car seat in the back of Darren's truck. It was loud and repetitive and no longer cute after about five minutes. We had opted out of a car service for the funeral because of how difficult it had been for Darren and Phil to secure the car seat in the truck before Phil had left for the conference. We wouldn't have had time to secure it in the service car anyway, after the suit debacle.

I fidgeted with the tie in the passenger seat, still slightly uncomfortable at the thought of going to my brother's funeral wearing his suit. But Darren assured me no one would notice and it would be over before we knew it.

"It's fine," Darren confirmed from the driver's seat. "You look fine." I stopped fidgeting. As usual, he was patient and kind and, not surprisingly, a really good driver. I hadn't even noticed we were already approaching the funeral home, the two-mile drive a complete daze.

The Windber Funeral Home was probably the first building erected in the small town and was built on an incline. It was a small beige house that had been converted into a funeral home in the 70s. The paint was chipping and the greenery was overgrown, wrapping around the porch and up the walls. It was surrounded by a parking lot that took up most of the property. Theresa's mother and sister waited for us at the entrance, which was in the back at the bottom of the hill. They waved and headed in our direction as we parked the car.

"You sure we can't just stay here until it's over?" I joked.

Darren shook his head at me. He said hello to Linda and Jeanine, kissing them both on the cheek. "It hasn't even started yet and I've already run out of tissues," Linda said. She held up the empty wrapper of travel tissues as evidence and I looked back at the trail of used ones she had accidentally dropped on her way to the car, crumpled up white balls on the pavement scattered in a crooked path.

I unstrapped Noah from the car seat as he kicked his legs and scrunched his face. He was getting crankier by the minute. He resisted as I tried to lift him out of the seat, squirming and saying, "No, no, no, no, no." I felt the same way.

"Please, Noah. Not now," I pleaded. I handed him the plastic car he had dropped on the floor of the truck and it distracted him long enough for me to get him out of the seat. I was learning that parenthood was all about distraction. Once he was in my arms and on my hip, I noticed he felt warm. "Hey, Linda. Do you think he's starting to get a fever?" I asked.

Linda was a retired school teacher and Theresa had followed in her footsteps. If anyone knew the difference between a sick kid and an overtired kid, it was Linda. She put the back of her hand against his forehead and then the other on his cheek. "He's fine. He just looks a little worked up. Let me take him." I handed Noah to his grandmother. It was the first time she was able to look at him since the accident, so I was comforted by her cooing.

Inside the main room, friends and family were already lined up to view the caskets and share condolences. There were rows of white flower arrangements along the walls. "We better get in place," Darren said as he guided us off to the side of the caskets, where we would wait and shake the hands of everyone who came to say goodbye to Phil and Theresa.

"Why don't you two go take a look before we get started," Linda said. "We already had our moment with them."

I wanted to apologize for being late, but instead, I walked behind Darren to the front. I could feel everyone's eyes on us, from the line of people waiting to shake hands along the wall of flowers to those sitting in the middle of the room in the rows of chairs until the line got shorter. I could see Mrs. Whitman, Mrs. Bryan, and Mrs. Harrison with their husbands and other people I didn't recognize. Maybe they were from Theresa's side of the family or members of the community that were paying their respects.

We approached Theresa's casket first. She was in a deep purple dress and her dark hair was delicately tucked behind and on top of her shoulders. She looked peaceful, not like a collision had ended her life. When Darren had told me that they would be able to have open caskets, that their injuries were mostly internal, I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed. But seeing her at rest, like she was asleep, I was glad I had agreed to view them.

Before I took another step forward towards Phil, tears began to fall down my face. There was no build-up or holding back, they fell without warning, and I couldn't tell where they were coming from. I felt betrayed and separate from my body. I looked at him only briefly, enough to know he was there and he was at peace. With my face turned away I put my hand on his chest and silently promised him I'd love Noah like my own. I also whispered fuck you, so he'd know it was me, and that I was pissed that he had been so reckless.

When we made it to our designated spot, like characters at a theme park waiting for autographs, the line started moving towards us. People would pray over the caskets and then offer us caring sentiments or share stories of our loved ones. Noah was pulling on Linda's layers of silver necklaces and distracting her from the kind grievers, so she handed him to Darren. He tried putting Noah down next to him, but Noah just ran to the back of the room, heads turning as I called his name and raced after him.

When I finally reached him, I scooped him up and he started to cry. It was loud. I bounced him on my hip and instead of returning to the group of immediate family next to the caskets, I walked him over to the posters against the back wall. There were three: one with pictures of Theresa, one with pictures of Phil, and the middle poster was covered with pictures of their lives together. "Look, Noah," I pointed. "That's you."

My finger pointed from picture to picture as Noah followed my narration. Eventually he got tired and rested his head on my chest. I continued to look at the photos. I had stayed up late the night before making the collage of Phil. Pictures from school, in our house, at holidays, on vacations, at work, with Darren, with me, with our parents, every age and every occasion. A life reduced to an arts and crafts project, countless images pasted on dollar-store posters.

"You can tell which one is yours," Darren whispered behind me.

"No you can't," I said, turning around.

"You can. You made Jeanine and me look like amateurs."

"You are amateurs."

Darren looked down at Noah and brushed Noah's hair from his forehead as his eyes got heavy. "Does he feel warm to you?" Darren asked.

I touched his forehead. He was already a lot warmer than in the car. "He's burning up," I said. "He's been fussy all day."

"I'll call the doctor." Darren stepped outside and I returned to the front of the room. Linda and Jeanine both gave me concerned looks, but they were too busy with people waiting in line to ask any questions. I bounced Noah and tried to soothe him. I thanked those who offered their sympathy in between checking his forehead a hundred times and telling him everything was going to be okay. An elderly man, maybe seventy, with long white hair and a mustache, introduced himself as one of Phil's customers and asked about Darren. He told me that when they were renovating his kitchen five years ago, his wife had a stroke and both of the boys had come to the funeral. He wanted to repay the kindness.

"To this day," he said, "I can't go into that kitchen without thinking about my wife and your brothers. She picked out every detail down to the expensive tile and the color of the grout. We fought about which shade of gray for hours and I think about it every time I find uncooked spaghetti on the floor. I can never get it all in the pot. Anyway, she's all over that kitchen and so is Phil. He's all over Windber. I just wanted to tell you that."

I wiped my cheek and hugged the man, Noah briefly squished between us. I never caught his name, although I wish I had. He told me Noah looked just like me and walked away into the crowd. I thanked a few more people before Darren returned.

"She said we can give him children's Tylenol or go to the ER," Darren said. "Either way we need to get him out of here."

"Ok. I'll take him. You should stay."

"You don't have to do this by yourself, Ryan." He had a serious look on his face, his don't-be-stupid face.

"One of us has to be here," I said.

We both looked back at the crowded room. Dozens of people had shown up to say goodbye, crying and hugging and sharing memories. Linda and Jeanine were consoling someone I didn't know at the front of the room. I didn't know most of the people there, except neighbors and some friends from high school. Phil was beloved in Windber and it felt right that the room was full of people. It also felt right that Darren should be the one to stay.

"I've said goodbye," I said. "I'll take Noah home."

Darren kissed Noah's forehead, called him Little Guy, and handed me the keys to his truck. I took one more glance at the room and Phil and Theresa and then made my way into the parking lot. Noah started to whine like he had a belly ache. I placed him in the car seat and strapped him in. When I tried to walk away I was suddenly choked. Noah had gripped the tie while I wasn't paying attention. It was the first time I thought about the suit since we had arrived. I smiled at the sudden reminder of my brother. That man was right, he was everywhere.

Author's Note: I'm so happy how this chapter turned out. I hope you liked it! Don't forget to vote and comment :)

Do you think Ryan did the right thing by letting Darren stay?