of three vice presidents, one president, and Augustus Waters.
We drove up the hill and parked. Cars roared by behind us on Thirty-eighth Street.
It was easy to find his grave: It was the newest. The earth was still mounded above his coffin.
No headstone yet.
I didn’t feel like he was there or anything,
but I still took one of Mom’s dumb little French flags and stuck it in the ground at the foot of his grave.
Maybe passersby would think he was a member of the French Foreign Legion or some heroic mercenary.
Lidewij finally wrote back just after six P.M.
while I was on the couch watching both TV and videos on my laptop.
I saw immediately there were four attachments to the email and I wanted to open them first,
but I resisted temptation and read the email.
Dear Hazel, Peter was very intoxicated when we arrived at his house this morning,
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