“So? They can’t see. Looks like a cigarette.”

“What if they smell it?”

Greg took a long drag and passed it to Patty, who declined. Greg exhaled hard.

“So is this how it is now?” he said. “Who cares what they see?”

“If my dad saw me with a joint he wouldn’t pay for my college,” Candice replied.

He looked to Patty for an answer.

“You’re not going to college,” he said. “What’s your excuse?”

“Excuse? I live with him.”

“For now. Are you going to live with Daddy forever? Do what he says?”

“Until I get my own place.”

Greg let out a short laugh. “When are you going to get your own place?”

Patty looked down. She had no plan, really. It was possible that, yes, she would live with her father forever and do what he said. She hadn’t thought about what would happen to her life much beyond this summer, and now this summer, while not over, was forever changed. Life would be different now.

An uncomfortable silence fell as the joint made its way around the circle. Greg pounded the rest of the beer and opened a second.

“They think maybe it had to do with drugs,” Candice finally said. “That’s what we were talking about before. Whoever Eric was buying from must have done it.”

Greg said nothing.

“You were selling before Eric,” Candice said.

“Yeah?”

“So who were you buying from?”

“That’s not important,” Greg said.

Patty plucked some blades of grass and crushed them between her fingers.

“But they think maybe that’s who did it,” she said to her boyfriend.

“That’s not who did it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know,” Greg snapped.

“How can you know?”

The rest of the group fell into wide-eyed silence, and there was a general quieting all around.

“This is bullshit,” Greg said. He dropped what was left of the joint into the beer can and stood up to leave. Patty jumped up as well and followed him toward the parking lot. Greg had parked his motorcycle at the end, as far away from the parents as he could, leaving them a long walk.

“Hey,” Patty said. “Hey.”

He stopped and turned.

“I’m not doing this,” he said. He had that tone he got when he wasn’t quite sober, a random loudness.

“My friends are dead,” she yelled, “and you’re being an asshole. . . .”

“Our friends,” he shot back. “God, you’re always like this.”

“Like what? You’re the one who hooked up with Sabrina. You cheated on me.”

He muttered something under his breath and got on his bike.

“Greg!” she screamed. She was losing it. It was all too much. Hot tears burned in her eyes. “Greg, don’t. You’re drunk. . . .”

He revved the engine to drown out her yelling and made to pull out. She stood in the way of the bike, so he walked it backward and turned out of the parking lot. She ran after the departing bike, yelling his name. She followed him all the way to where the parking lot met the road, crying and waving her flashlight. By now, everyone around was staring as she watched his bike disappear into the darkness.