It was still public.

Three days ago: a ship’s railing, a blue ocean, a plate of shrimp with a paper umbrella stuck in it.

Then a table for four, and my thumb froze.

Patricia sat on the left in a white linen shirt I’d never seen before.

Jenna had a straw hat tipped back off her forehead.

Derek’s hand showed in the corner of the shot, raising a glass of something orange.

“Her blood pressure’s fine,” the paramedic said.