Chapter 13: No Names, Eli

The pier was so quiet I could hear the water under the planks.

Rocco got to his feet slowly.

He did not look at me anymore.

He looked at Eli, at the grey eyes and the grey at the temples.

"No," Rocco said. "No. You're dead."

"Rocco."

"There's a stone. I was fourteen. I stood in front of it in a suit that didn't fit."

"I know."

"You know?" His voice cracked upward. "I pour you a glass every June. I say your name at the table. Papa watches me do it."

Eli's hands were open at his sides.

His face did not move, but I saw his throat work.

"I know that too," he said. "I heard it last night."

"From who?"

"From him."

Rocco stared.

Then he took two steps and grabbed the front of Eli's jacket in both fists.

I thought he would hit him.

He pulled him in instead and put his forehead against Eli's shoulder, and a sound came out of him that I had never heard from anyone.

Eli's arms came up, stiff, and then they closed around him.

Three fishermen looked away at the same moment.

"Dario," Rocco said into the canvas. "Dario. Dario."

I stood there in Eli's sweater and heard it.

It was a good name.

It fit the man in front of me better than I wanted it to.

When they pulled apart, Rocco wiped his face with both hands and turned to me, and his whole body asked me to forgive him for something new.

"Orla, he's my brother. He's my big brother. He taught me to swim off this pier."

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