I.
It was a sticky Thursday afternoon. The air wrapped around and between the leaves while the boys watched cars grind north on Third Avenue.
II.
Steve tapped his black shoes together. “I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, it was a lousy lunch. Those sandwiches were like the ones from soccer.”
Steve nodded.
“I’ll make you something tonight, maybe tortellini.”
Steve smiled and closed his eyes. “So where’s Mom now?”
Elliott shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Steve turned towards the tall oak doors. “She never liked this place.”
“Yeah, she said it was better to sleep in the morning. Remember that science study thing? The one in our group chat only with Mo–?”
On the sidewalk to their right, a bit closer to the park than the Avenue, water and glass, cut flowers from a vase, white and pink, a kind man, his cheek pressed into pavement, above, a girl and a balcony rail. A scream.
“Did she drop that?”
“Had to… look at all… I don’t… Stevey, he’s not moving,” Elliott whispered.
Someone ran across the street. Faces followed and a delivery worker shook the man and a different man stabbed at his phone. Steve watched the concrete stain.
There were sirens and flashes and uniforms. Elliott sank back into the shade. Steve listened to the traffic and the girl and her elbow slipped inside.
III.
A man approached, not the priest.
He stopped at their feet. “It’s time to carry your mom outside.” Steve got up first and rubbed his eyes.