Chapter 64

“Who knew?” I said.

Dad laughed. “It’s always the quiet ones, son.”

Though by the sound of the snoring, quiet wasn’t exactly the word for it.

Bing died on the way to the hospital. I was devastated and shocked, like the rug had been pulled out from beneath my feet. Of course, I also felt guilty, even though it wasn’t my fault, that he’d brought it all on himself, that it was either him or me. I was mad at myself as well, mad that I’d fallen―or, that is to say, refallen―in love with a bad guy, mad at myself for not listening to my friends and family, for believing that a person could revisit their past, to live in that past yet again, even if only for part of the summer. I suppose, looking back on it all, it was that crisis of mine, midlife or not. Oh, and we’ll go with not, mainly because I’m clearly not in my midlife. Clearly. And yes, it bears repeating. Wait, let’s repeat it one last time, in caps and with an exclamation point. CLEARLY!