Will wondered what would have happened if he’d never picked up that hammer and sent it flying through the window. Or if they’d never even gone to the party in the first place. He wanted to say something that would make sense of everything that had happened. A reason for what they’d done, or an excuse. Why had they risked everything for a stupid beer bash? But he didn’t have an answer. It was a party, and in the moment, it had felt like morning would never come. But they’d done real damage—to the people around them, and to each other. And yet, here they were.

They rounded a bend in the river and the New Falls Bridge came into view. They would pull their rafts out on the sloping bank under the bridge, before the river hit the rapids. The afternoon light reflected off the metal bridge, shining pale green against the purple sky. The wind started up, pushing their floats along faster than they expected.

Trip watched the currents change. “Let’s start paddling over to the bank,” he said.

“It’s definitely going to pour,” June warned, her eyes skyward.

“No, it won’t,” Will said. “This is the last tubing trip of the year. The weather will hold.”

The group slowly made their way to the shore. When they reached it, they hauled themselves out of their tubes and onto the muddy bank. The wind was really whipping now, and they worked quickly, letting the air out of the tubes and carrying the coolers up the hill to the road. They formed a chain, helping one another up the steep bank and trying not to lose their footing on the slippery path. It was only five o’clock, but the sky was suddenly as dark as if it was night. When they reached the top of the bank, they let go of one another’s hands and scattered to the shelter of the cars that they’d left parked in town. None of them thought to call out last goodbyes as they jogged away, and it wasn’t until they were safe inside, wrapped in towels and warming their feet on the dashboard heating vents, that the first bolt of lightning split the sky, and the rain finally poured down.

Author’s Note

In 2007, I was starting my career as an associate at a law firm in New York City. Specializing in corporate tax, I had a bird’s-eye view of the financial crisis that was beginning to unfold. Working late nights, I’d gaze out from my midtown skyscraper and marvel at the constellations of illuminated windows in the neighboring buildings, so dense that we formed a sort of sad corporate Milky Way. The sweeping views included the headquarters of the now-infamous Bear Stearns, whose collapse was a prelude to the larger banking crisis.