Following his funeral mass, images of Ed's life flashed on the wall, tossed there by a projector as his friends killed a half keg and went searching the VFW hall's downstairs bar for bottled beer.

Jerry asked M. how Ed's accident happened. M. told him that Ed was working on a job site in a part of the house away from everyone else. They went around back and he was on the ground. His ladder was still up. Ed fell, suffered serious head injuries, and lapsed into a coma after the December accident. By the first hours of March, he was gone.

Watching his pictures on the wall , I asked S., how old was he?

Forty four, she said.

Did he ever wake up?

Shaking her head and blinking eyes full of mascara, she said, I don't think he did.

Turning to watch Ed's girlfriend across the room, S. asked, did they ever get married? I saw a wedding photo, she said.

They were not married, as far as I know, I said. We watched the pictures change on the wall. We saw some twice, and one with our friend Fonzie three times, but the wedding shot never reappeared.

We get home and I pull ticks from the dogs and find Lily's honey eyes and Bandit's determination to sit on my feet comforting. I hear Ozzy snoring and know he has parked his tan body against Hershey, who blends with the shadows.