Garrett came out a minute later, sliding the door closed behind him, with two crystal tumblers of sparkling water.

He handed me one tumbler and propped his elbows on the black iron railing.

“Remember when Mom took us down to the Trinity River site back in ninety-eight?” Garrett asked, looking out toward the dark trees along the river.

“She used to bring fried chicken in a wicker basket,” I said.

“She always said you’d work yourself into an early grave if somebody didn’t drag you off the equipment,” Garrett said.

He glanced sideways at me, his profile sharp against the glowing city lights below.