And all the adults involved yelled at both of us for being so stupid. Scolded us. His mother. My grandmother. They couldn’t believe what fools we were.

And we were fools.

Fools for love.

But that is what it feels like when half of you is missing when the other one’s away. That’s what it feels like to have yearning, a kind of yearning to see someone who you just saw two minutes ago but already you miss them. A kind of love like a dagger.

We were out to breakfast, in winter. Woodees. Christmas decorations all around, draped tinsel. Red, blue, green lights flashing. Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer staring down from above the kitchen. And I asked Zander why he didn’t like eggs. I never saw him eat eggs. And do you know what he said? Well, this is what he said: “I don’t like eggs because I was eating eggs when my mom came down the stairs to tell me . . . my dad had died.”

And I wasn’t expecting that, but then he explained, “My dad was a pilot. And that morning his plane had crashed.”

I was stunned now, just wanting to hold him gently. To make everything better. To stop time.

And then he thought about it a minute. “Before the eggs, I was just a happy-go-lucky little kid and then, after? Traumatized. A little ghost walking around.”

Frozen, sitting there, I had had no idea. No one had told me.

Then Zander looked up. “Until you. I’ve never been this happy before. Since that morning. It’s true . . . I just realized it.”

And the feeling I had then was . . . gratefulscared? Sadlucky?

“I feel . . . sadlucky,” I confessed.

“Daffy.” He looked at me. “You’re weird.”

He smiled then, and I smiled. And he laughed in his smile. “You’re so fucking weird.” And then we were both laughing. And the diner lady was giving us a dirty look, but what did it matter? What did anything matter with Zander and me, and even though neither of us have dads and only one of us has a mother, none of that matters because we have each other. And each other is warm. And each other is safe.

But that was winter, and that was before spring.

Before April.

When the bad storm happens.

It was an April rainstorm where the sky opened up, but it was a Friday night and when we went to the party there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky.

Zander and me.

Over at a party out at a ranch, out in the boonies. Past Highway 2. I didn’t know whose house it was but Zander did. A friend from soccer camp.

That friend’s parents were out of town.

Of course.

And it was supposed to be a fun night.

A Friday night in spring!

Someone must have thought they were really clever because they spiked the red fruit punch and, next thing you know, everybody was walking around in stumbles, bumping into things, tipsy.