I hadn’t slept all night. It had been more than two weeks since the fire, but those posters from the memorial service were still on the back of my eyelids every time I closed my eyes. Around two in the morning, I got up and drove to The Sea Tender. I sat on the deck and cried, because I couldn’t quiet my mind enough to make contact with Daddy. It’d been so long since I felt him with me! Every time I tried to still my thoughts, those posters popped up again. I wanted to grab that blue-eyed Jordy and that scared-looking little boy, Henderson, and Mr. Eggles, who’d probably saved Andy from getting pulverized by 194 diane chamberlain Keith—I wanted to grab them and breathe life back into them. I kept saying, “Please Daddy, please Daddy, please Daddy,” like he could somehow magically make things better. But he wasn’t coming. I finally decided something, though, sitting out there in the dark. I’d cut school today and go to that accountant, Mr. Gebhart, to ask how I could help with the fund-raising.
