In fact, all Bonnie could see was the alley below, where a seagull was wrestling a pizza crust from a garbage bag. She lived on a somewhat squalid street a block from the beach, in one of a number of ramshackle buildings that still offered cheap month-to-month rentals and were therefore viable homes to an itinerant community of surfers, students, seasonal workers, aging hippies, and functioning drug addicts—the kind of people who gave Venice what real estate agents called its “local color” but who would never use a real estate agent themselves.
“That’s nice,” said Avery. “I’m looking at a brief.”
“Still? Isn’t it late there now?”
“You know me,” said Avery.
Bonnie did. Avery used work the way she used to use drugs: to drown out the world.
“Did you do anything to, you know, commemorate the day?” Avery asked.
“Not yet. Have you?”
“Just calling all of you. If we did want to start a tradition, now would be the time.”
Bonnie blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.
“What would Nicky have liked? It’s not like there’s a how-to for grieving.”
Avery’s voice took on the brisk, efficient quality she usually reserved for her clients.
“Hold on, I’m looking it up now.” Bonnie could hear her begin typing. “How…to…acknowledge…death…anniversary.”
Bonnie shook her head and snorted softly. She directed her attention back to the seagull’s ferocious efforts as it pierced the trash bag in search of more prizes.
“I think it’s just meant to be a gut thing, Aves. The internet can’t tell us what to do here.”
“The internet can always tell us what to do. See, I have a list right here.” Avery began reciting. “Number one, visit their final resting place…Okay, well we’re not in New York so we can’t do that. Number two, release butterflies—”
Bonnie scoffed.
“Sure, let me just grab my net.”
Avery laughed.
“Number three is more reasonable. Write a letter, poem, or blog.”
“Poem? Blog? Who are these people?”
“Okay, okay. Number four is play their favorite song.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“No, but Lucky would,” said Avery.
“Lucky will probably tell us it’s some death metal track just to mess with us.”
“I guess if she ever answers her phone, we can find out.”
Now Avery’s voice took on the flinty edge she used to conceal when her feelings had been hurt, though she would never admit it. Bonnie knew how hard she tried to connect with their youngest sister, elusive as any butterfly herself. The trick to loving Lucky, Bonnie wanted to tell Avery, was to respect her need to be free. Let her come and go as she pleased and eventually, she would land on you. But, as per usual, Bonnie decided not to get involved.
“Moving on,” said Avery. “Five, we can hold a special remembrance ceremony. Six, express loving sentiments with flowers…”
“None of these sound like Nicky.”
“I know. Okay, the last suggestion on the list is to take a seat.”
“That’s it?” Bonnie frowned to herself. “That’s the whole suggestion? To sit down?”
“That’s all it says. Take a seat.”
“I guess we can do that.”
“I’m already sitting at my desk. Should I change seats?”
“Yeah, take a different seat. Sit on the floor.”
“Okay, you sit on the floor too.”
Bonnie crawled down to the landing floor and leaned her back against the wall, closing her eyes. She could hear the seagulls and her neighbors quietly arguing, the man repeating I told you, I told you, and, beyond that, the slow crashing of waves. The sun glowed golden through the skin of her eyelids. The air smelled of salt and garbage and light.
“Do you feel like this is doing anything?” she asked.
“I don’t think it’s meant to do anything,” said Avery. “It’s just meant to be an opportunity for us to remember her and feel, you know, our grief.”
“Fun,” said Bonnie.
“Are you feeling it?”
