Garrett Island was, more or less, back to normal. The funerals, which were held over the course of three weeks, had finally come to an end. Forty-eight people had lost their lives. There was talk of erecting some kind of memorial in the town square. Some islanders were for it, others wanted to forget it had ever happened. The debate was expected to continue for some time.

Everyone on the island got their cars back. The Arrivals were put on a barge and taken to a landfill site in New Jersey. The Arrival corporation, which was facing more than a hundred lawsuits, declared bankruptcy. Shares in all companies that produced self-driving cars plummeted.

Gas prices went up.

The somewhat dimwitted Ronny was made interim chief. The island’s governing council was still shopping around for a sharper knife in the drawer. Deeper background checks had been promised for when the next chief was chosen.

It was early November and the tourist season was over, but there had been a few gawkers coming over from the mainland, wanting to check out the sites of the most serious mayhem. The mall had seen an uptick in visitors.

Lillian Bridgeman sold her house and moved to an assisted living facility outside of Boston.

Sandra Montrose decided to get out of the public relations business. There was an opening for a manager at one of the island’s most prestigious resorts, the kind of place where they held a G7 one year, and she got the job. She didn’t need a man in her life anymore.

Sandra had Adam. She talked to him all the time.

“Don’t you worry about Katie and Archie,” she would tell him, usually once she had slipped under the covers at night. “I’m looking out for them, one hundred percent, but the good thing is, they know how to look out for themselves. We done good, you and me.”

Katie was looking out the window when the flatbed truck pulled up in front of Bruce’s house. It was a Saturday, and not only was she home, but her mom and Archie were, too.

The three of them came out and slowly crossed the street as the green tarp shrouding the car was pulled away. Once the bed was slowly angled down to the road, the delivery guy crawled up the ramp, got into the Cadillac, and slowly backed it down to the street.

Bruce signed some paperwork and handed over a check, and once the truck was gone, all four of them walked around the car, admiring the work.

“You’d never know,” Archie said. “It looks fantastic.”

Bruce’s chest swelled. “Yeah, I’m pretty happy with it.”

Sandra managed to admire the vehicle without ever once looking directly at that one tailfin. “It’s a piece of art this car, honestly.”

Bruce continued to smile. He was spinning the key chain around on his index finger.