BooksBarbecue
Back Side by Side Save as PDF
Chapters (50)
  1. Cover Page
  2. Half Title Page
  3. SIDE by SIDE
  4. Dedication Page
  5. Epigraph
  6. Part I: Fall
  7. 1.
  8. 2.
  9. 3.
  10. 4.
  11. 5.
  12. Part II: Crawl
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. 10.
  18. 11.
  19. 12.
  20. 13.
  21. 14.
  22. 15.
  23. 16.
  24. 17.
  25. 18.
  26. 19.
  27. 20.
  28. 21.
  29. 22.
  30. 23.
  31. 24.
  32. 25.
  33. 26.
  34. 27.
  35. 28.
  36. 29.
  37. 30.
  38. 31.
  39. Part III: Rise
  40. 32.
  41. 33.
  42. 34.
  43. 35.
  44. 36.
  45. 37.
  46. 38.
  47. 39.
  48. 40.
  49. Acknowledgements
  50. About the Author

The others have gone to bed. She tried to sleep too but her thoughts, loud and agitated, flit like a swarm of birds reacting to danger. Her mind keeps going places it shouldn’t, wanting to know the things only Sunil can know for sure.

A small, still voice inside her warns her to stop. There are places in the mind that are unwise to travel, just as certain parts of the world. But she can’t stop the flood of unknowns, or the hounding need to answer them. Stopping them would be like trying to dam a river with a net.

So, she surrenders to the flood. When was the precise moment Sunil died? Was it on the first night, when her pulsing gaze rarely left the street, as every part of her being focused on willing him home? Could it have been that soon? They waited for nine more days after that first night. Could he really have been gone while they prayed and searched and filled his voicemail with pleas?

When did he decide on the ski lodge? Had he chosen it weeks earlier? Had he been there before? Or had he simply driven past it and thought: Good enough.

Where did he buy the sleeping pills? At the Shoppers Drugmart a few blocks away, where they buy eco-friendly toilet paper and toothpaste and milk—life items? Did he visit more than one? How many boxes of pills did he buy? How many did he swallow?

What about the vodka? Sober Sunil buying vodka. Words that are too incongruous to make sense, like “Sunil killed himself.” What kind was it? Smirnoff? Polar Ice? Did he splurge on something expensive, the way people toast special occasions with Champagne? Or did he see a cheap bottle of gut-thinner and think: Good enough.

Who was the last person to see him alive? A man or a woman? Old or young? Were they bored? Or—her chest tightens—were they rude? She prays they were kind. If they were kind, did it make him pause, and reconsider his plan? If they were awful, did it reinforce his resolve that the world was better off without him, and he was better off without the world?

Did he have any doubts during the long drive to the ski lodge? Did he think of turning back? Did he check his phone? Did he ever see 50 missed calls reach for him with electric glare? Did he listen to the voicemails, their pleas, especially the last one that got cut short: “Hi, Bear. Just me aga—”