Late that evening, I found him at the kitchen table, a glass of Jim Beam poured, the dishes pushed to the side in a jumbled pile. A single burner on the stove glowed red, but no pot or pan sat on it.

"Kyle?" I asked, turning off the stove and pulling out a chair for myself, taking inventory of the knives close at hand, but not sure why.

He was deep in concentration, eyes focused on a point of great importance, a gaze I would imagine a sailor holds as he steers towards shore but…

I. 

Summer looms with its ferocious heat that feels more like weight than temperature, and you become listless. You say you want to leave ahead of  the season, want to go to the north Atlantic coast or Appalachians -- anywhere cooler. You watch me clandestinely to see if I am upset by your impending absence.…