Mr. Fischer turns down the lights. From the kitchen, Mrs. Fischer begins to sing “Happy Birthday” and we all join in when she emerges with a chocolate cake with seventeen candles. Sometimes I forget how young Milton is.

She sets the cake down in front of her son. “Make a wish.”

The birthday candles bring out the freckles on Milton’s face. His lips are pressed tightly together and his eyebrows slant inward and down. “I wish Rudy was here. I wish something could be done to stop this stupid war. I wish someone could bring back all the human beings, not only American soldiers, who’ve died needlessly. I wish someone would take all the politicians and corporate bigwigs and generals and line them up and —”

“Please, dear,” Mrs. Fischer interrupts softly. “Just blow out the candles.”

“Sure we’re allowed to build a fire?” Milton’s looking around nervously in the dark. We’re on the beach in Bayville. In the moonlight, small waves lap against the shore. I reassure him that they have bonfires up and down the beach and shoot off a ton of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

The beach is a mixture of pebbles and sand. Tinsley’s sitting next to Milton with her arm around his shoulders, being affectionate and extra sweet. She’s treating him like a long-lost little brother. Nobody asked her to take on that role, but Milton’s dazzled, so it’s a nice birthday present.

Arno and I are on our knees, scooping out a depression for the fire. We learned to make fires the year pre – Rat Fink Johnny convinced us to join the Boy Scouts. Arno and I reluctantly agreed, even though we thought that earning merit badges was stupid and that the Scout master was a jerk because he always insisted our uniforms be neatly pressed, our ties knotted properly, and our shoes polished.

He knew we didn’t like him and was keen to find an excuse to boot us out of the troop. He finally got it on an overnight campout after Arno and I told some eager new Scouts that earning the Hole Digging merit badge by shoveling the five required holes in under two hours was way faster and easier than the First Aid or Personal Fitness badges, which could take months to earn. As specified in the Boy Scout Handbook, the five holes were: narrow and deep, wide and shallow, a circle, a square, and the famously challenging S shape. At first, the newbies went full bore with their foldable army spades, but by the third hole, they were bushed. No one managed to dig all five holes in the allotted time.

One of them must have said something to the Scout master. A few days later, Arno and I got the boot. (There’s no such thing as a Hole Digging merit badge.)