I suppose he’s right. If this is my last day alive, I should really live it. Up ahead, I see the faint lights of the Ferris wheel changing colors as it spins, and I let Adam lead me toward it.

A few minutes later, a safety bar drops down across our laps, trapping us in the car. It’s barely big enough for the two of us and we’re squished together, our arms and thighs pressed against each other’s. Despite the icy wind tangling my hair, I’m warm all over.

The Ferris wheel lifts up with a jerk, and Adam lets out a little “Aah!”

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He looks a little sick but turns to face me, pointedly not looking down. “Sure, sure, just fine. Why are we doing this again?”

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights.”

“No, of course not.” He peers down for a quick second and then jerks back. “Okay, maybe a little.”

“You’ll be fine. I rode this thing when I was a kid. If it’s been here for thirty-plus years, I’m sure it’s safe.”

“Or it’s a decrepit old machine that should have been replaced years ago.”

“You’re right. That must be it.”

I lean against him, watching our breath make clouds in the air as we climb higher into the sky. From up here we can see everything—the black water and gray sand, the roller coasters with people screaming as they ride them, the stretch of boardwalk with all its colors and movement and life.

“My parents took me here for my birthday when I was a kid,” I say. “One of my few happy memories of the three of us. Mamá and I rode this Ferris wheel together, and afterward I ate cotton candy and got it stuck in my hair. We watched people fish and we played in the sand. It was my one truly perfect day.”

Adam is silent for a minute, while cheesy carnival music plays in the background. “What happened to your parents?” he finally asks.

I close my eyes, the memories replaced with much darker ones. I never talk about what happened, and I don’t know if I can find the words to do so now. But I’ve told Adam everything else, and maybe with this one last piece, he’ll finally understand.

“Papá drank a lot, and he was angry all the time. Some nights he’d come home and take it out on me and Mamá. Mostly my mother. Mamá tried to protect me, and most of the time she could, but…”