not to his wife, not to his mother, not to anyone—but he cursed his
father for dying and for trapping him in the very life he'd been trying to
escape; a life that, as he heard the old man laughing from the grave,
apparently now was good enough for him.
Today Is Eddie's Birthday
He is 37. His breakfast is getting cold.
"You see any salt?" Eddie asks Noel.
Noel, chewing a mouthful of sausage, slides out from the booth,
leans across another table, and grabs a salt shaker.
"Here," he mumbles. "Happy birthday."
Eddie shakes it hard. "How tough is it to keep salt on the table?"
"What are you, the manager?" Noel says.
Eddie shrugs. The morning is already hot and thick with humidity.
This is their routine: breakfast, once a week, Saturday mornings,
before the park gets crazy. Noel works in the dry cleaning business.
Eddie helped him get the contract for Ruby Pier's maintenance
uniforms.
"What'dya think of this good-lookin' guy?" Noel says. He has a copy
of Life magazine open to a photo of a young political candidate. "How
can this guy run for president? He's a kid!"
Eddie shrugs. "He's about our age."
"No foolin'?" Noel says. He lifts an eyebrow. "I thought you had to be
older to be president."
"We are older," Eddie mumbles.
Noel closes the magazine. His voice drops. "Hey. You hear what
happened at Brighton?"
Eddie nods. He sips his coffee. He'd heard. An amusement park. A
gondola ride. Something snapped. A mother and her son fell 60 feet to
their death.
"You know anybody up there?" Noel asks.