Two hours later, all of us sufficiently sunburned and equally dehydrated, the parade watchers disperse. We walk the few blocks back to our street, where the beginnings of a block party are filling the end of the asphalt.
“Oh, you’re kidding,” Margot says under her breath.
Margot and I are, for once, on the same page.
“Oh, yes,” Paige says, slowing her pace to squeeze between Margot and me. She wraps her arms around our shoulders, pulling us against her, all too pleased with herself. “Margot, you volunteered to help the McCaffreys out at the dessert table. How kind of you.” She points to a table with an equally plump and curly-haired couple our grandparents’ age. They’re sifting through plates of cookies, brownies, cakes, and pies, setting them out on a card table.
“Like hell I did—”
“It’s either desserts now or dishes for a week,” Paige says in a singsong tone.
“This is an abuse of power.”
“That’s the spirit,” Paige says, and gives Margot a nudge
A grin starts to crack across my lips. Paige, as if sensing it, turns to me and gives me a mischievous smile.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this community-building. You’re with your mom and me at the sides table. Your mom is grabbing the mac ’n’ cheese now.”
Twenty minutes later, I’ve introduced myself to neighbors I had no intention of making acquaintance with. Half know me through my mom; I hear a dozen stories about my mom and Paige when they were wild teenagers. Most offer a warning to stay home after dark, and one deigns to outright ask how I’m doing after the accident. “What a tragedy,” the oblivious woman says, “and how lucky you are to come out the other side intact.”
Intact. It’s not the word I would use. I am, and maybe also will remain, fractured. Pieces of me, blood and soul, are forever etched into the road hundreds of miles away. In the same stretch of asphalt where Harper took her last breaths.
My already dour attitude takes a nosedive. I don’t even care how rude I’m being, which, according to Paige, is very.
“You can’t blame people for being curious,” she says, nudging my side.
I stick her with a glare.
She opens her mouth, inevitably preparing a placation, but she’s interrupted by Jasper. Having been forced to stay in eyeshot, he’s run out of napkins to rip in half, and announces, “I wanna see the floats!”
At the other end of the block, a few large decorated trucks sit abandoned as their owners fill up on food and chat.
“I’ll take you over in a bit, Bubs,” my mom says. “But you’ve got to hang out here for a while longer.”
Jasper pouts. “But it’s not far.”
He looks my way, as if expecting me to hop to his defense, but I keep my mouth shut. A twisted part of me thinks if me and Margot are stuck at these tables, he should be, too.
“Not right now,” Mom says.
Tears well in Jasper’s eyes. A little too old for the crocodile tears, but they’re effective. My mom grumbles a sigh, sweeping the hairs out of her eyes.
“Jasper—”
“Take him, Diana. Jo and I can keep the table from lighting on fire for five minutes,” Paige says.
My mom frowns, clearly trying to decide whether her sister is joking. But Jasper starts tugging at the sleeve of her jacket, and she eventually relents, reassuring us she’ll be back to help in a few minutes.
I busy myself clearing the mashed potatoes off the end of the table, where a child who had no right handling his own ladle dumped half the bowl.
“Can I get everyone’s attention?” an older woman with short purple hair calls from her post in front of the dessert table. Mrs.McCaffrey.
Silence falls on the block, and every eye turns to Mrs.McCaffrey. She gives a wan smile.
“I’d like to take a moment to remember those we’ve lost. The children who couldn’t be here today. Let’s take a minute of silence. If you’re of the variety, feel free to make a prayer for their safe return. And if you’re not, you can wish for the same.”
We bow our heads, and I can’t help noticing the ones hanging lower than the rest. It’s as if they’re wearing neon vests declaring their losses. Shoulders stooped low, like they’ve been sinking under the weight for longer than these sixty seconds. The McCaffreys, reaching for each other’s hands, squeezing tight. Another couple off to the side, two men, one who clasps a hand on his partner’s shoulder.
