Now that my father's dead, I think about it a lot. Harvey had the best of us. Hot summer days on the shore. Birthdays and ice cream. My father had our sickness and sadness and the fights about boyfriends who came and went and the sobbing nights of tornadoes and blizzards and things that were well beyond our control.
Love is well beyond our control.
Kitty is pouring champagne in my plastic cup. We can drink later. His smile is crooked, ripples like the lake underneath our feet. He turns to me, and without warning, grabs me around the waist. I can feel his body shaking, mostly from cold.