Before I could answer, her friends descend upon us, gave me a dismissive look and started pulling her away. They were cackling about something. I couldn’t make it out. My focus was on Gwen. She titled her head, smiled and shrugged her shoulders as she disappeared into the crowd.

She had a fascination with the bridge. No real reason why; it looks just like any other suspension bridge. There was no imaginative design to it, nothing that would set it apart from many other bridges; just another soulless piece of American design and WPA era craftsmanship. If there was a sentimental pull to it, she didn't know where it came from within her heart. She had never seen it before.

Still drunk, I pulled out my phone to summon an Uber. We rode in complete silence, a silence so loud that it pained my ears and heart. He had edged his way over to one side of the car and seemingly recoiled from my reach and touch.

What’s going on! Bill your new boyfriend says. You can tell he’s annoyed as he says it. That’s just Stuey and Peppy and Charlotte and Beth. Sweet little things, don’t you think? And you swallow once, hard, and notice his eyes, they suddenly seem somewhat beady. Well, you answer him back, if you’re all such good friends, why are they running for cover?

Thus, Topper reached the smallest mango tree’s low branches, picked several mangoes and dropped them inside the plastic bag. He hoisted himself over the fence to reach the bigger and riper ones. Then, he returned to the bucket and picked four mangoes from it. Flustered by his rudeness, I thought about my father’s shotgun inside the house—reserved for people like that.

Guesses must be made within twenty-four hours of confirmed time of death. Only whole toothpicks count. So don’t let the grandchildren play all fast and stompy. You may want to hire an independent consultant for a pure count. That’s on your dime.

He saw, as he had in himself, the same desolation imprinted in the facial expressions and mannerisms of those huddled around the fire. Their nervous tics, downcast eyes, which, at first, seemed reluctant to acknowledge his presence there, until one woman in particular caught his attention.

I shrugged. I’d never really killed anything before, so I didn’t know if it was normal to check and make sure it was dead. I’d gone on hunting trips with dad when I was a kid but I ain’t never killed anything. I missed on purpose, even though, maybe, I dunno, I might not have been able to hit anything even if I’d tried. But Raid, that shit was hard to miss with.

I was craving real food, not snacks since I hadn’t eaten since five that morning when I’d gotten that cinnamon twist to go with my coffee. Shifting from foot to foot, I debated on the merits of going and grabbing something to snack on or getting out of line and going to get food at a restaurant as the old man walked off and to get his wife a bag of chips.

The dead guy, so he wasn't my focus at all. It was all about the tuxedo cat who entered into my mind. Black and white cat, lookin' like he's wearin' a tux. You've seen one, haven't ya? He was sweet but kind of slow. No, I don't mean speed. Like, he was a bit stupid.

Laying back on the bed, I take out my phone and call mom. The call goes to voicemail. In my message, I say that I hope her and dad are staying safe and having fun. Unsure of what else to say, I tell her I love her. Then I hang up and drop my phone on the bed beside me.

I went to stand by dad, leaning into him, as if I could defend him from whatever was coming. The smell of charcoal smoke and grilling meat mingled with Coppertone and grass; the signature scent of my summer memories.

“Ignore Aunt Patti, punkin, it’s just silly grownup stuff,” he said to me, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

That night, I cry myself to sleep. I huddle under the blankets. Snowflakes bite my ears and the Arctic wind stings my nose. I see the moon face of a man like my dad slipping away from my grasp. He looks like he’s asleep, only he never wakes up. The sea steals him, gurgling him down, and I think about when I dropped my baby doll, Nancy, off the ferry last summer. I cried so hard because I couldn’t undo what I’d done.