Page 84 of Every Time I Go on Vacation, Someone Dies

We watch the brilliant orange sunset for a minute as it sinks into the sea, our arms touching. It feels like something’s happening between us, but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

It’s magic hour, and this feels magical.

So that tracks.

But magical thinking is dangerous. It means you miss things. That you don’t see danger coming.

I shudder, then turn my attention to a man climbing the stairs toward us from the town below. He’s red in the face, but he keeps going up steadily. I admire his determination. I would’ve crapped out three flights ago.

“Happy Fourth of July, by the way,” Oliver says.

“Is it the Fourth?”

“All day.”

“I guess that’s not something they celebrate here.”

“Probably not.”

“I sound like a stupid American,” I say.

“You’re not stupid.”

“I’ve been feeling pretty stupid lately.”

“Why?”

I hug myself, wrapping my arms tight. “I screwed everything up. Me and you, me and Harper.”

“What happened with Harper?”

“She was telling you about it at dinner, wasn’t she?”

He nods slightly. “Some.”

“You two were always good friends.”

“We both loved you.”

A lump forms in my throat. He used the past tense. Not just for him, but for her.

Is this what it feels like when your heart is breaking? Like you can’t breathe?

Like you never knew how to do it?

“Harper will come around,” Oliver says.

“And you?”

He turns toward me. The setting sun is reflecting in his eyes, giving them an orange cast. “I came on this trip, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t have to?”

“I’m a grown man, El. I only do the things I want.”

I work through what this means. Oliver always reads the packet. He knew this was my tour, and he came anyway. He sought me out. He—

Okay, El, slow your roll.

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