Chapter 16: CelebrationSome neighbors hosted a summertime party. I thought it was the Westfields of West End: wealthy beyond anything imaginable; the inventors of Westfield Urns and Memorials. That night Kent and I sat on one of the west balconies overlooking the lake. We drank homemade banana daiquiris. The West End Fire Department set off a private firework display from Cape Point. I was quite sure the Westfields had paid a bloody fortune for the fireworks display.
Near midnight, the sky filled with brilliant colors, blooming among the stars, exploding into mushroom-shaped lights, bursting and filling the sky. Halfway through the display I watched Tacoma across from me. He had one leg propped over the other, neck arched, eyes glued to the colorful night. I couldn’t think of anyone more
