Dogs of Summer

“Bee.” Rocío shakes her head gloomily. “Which way is the ocean?” I point to my left. She immediately begins shuffling her feet in that direction. “Ro, you first have to get out of the building and . . . what are you doing?” “I shall walk into the sea. Farewell.”

“I know,” is her soft reply. “I’m just glad Summer has you. God knows the rest of us didn’t do her any good.”