". . . their confused misunderstanding of what the other person might need or want . . ."

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They’re sharing a secret, I’m sure, and each time I look at these pictures, I hope it’s about me, that like my father, I too am an invisible part of this sunlit moment.

She stayed practical and mostly quiet throughout the day, helping load the car for the beach and silently cutting the crusts off our bologna sandwiches, the detritus of an unhappy marriage.

Who can say how we save each other?

Emmet lay on the ground, propped up on his elbow, dirt-streaked tears running down his cheeks like a sad lady’s eyeliner.