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The five of us sat on the patio enjoying the breakfast they had made. It felt weird to think of us as an odd-numbered group. I couldn’t get it out of my mind that there should have been six of us at the table as I filled another tortilla with the egg concoction. We said nothing, letting the clanging of silverware against the plates and the crashing of the waves on the beach do all of the talking. Everyone seemed to be waiting for someone else to speak first. I hadn’t thought much about what we should do on this day, but sitting there bouncing Madeline on my knee, I knew we had to go to the lagoon.

We carried our daughters to the place where we’d spend the afternoon, finding a spot to set up our stuff. We took turns looking after Maddy and Emilia so that each of us had ample time to swim in the gorgeous, clear waters. It was just as pleasant to sit near the trees and watch the babies coo at the birds in the trees above them, or to try to engage them in conversation even though all they could do was babble.

While Emilia slept on a towel in the shade, I held Maddy in my arms, telling her about her mom even though I knew she had no clue what the hell I was saying. I told her how Liz had walked through these trees and that her feet had touched the dirt upon which we now sat. I told her about the time we swam through a crack in that huge rock, discovering a part of the lagoon where there were no other humans. We had a physical connection to this place; now, with every breath I took, I felt closer to Liz, not further away.

That night we had a nice dinner together, talking mostly about Liz. It felt good to be here with my best friend and his family. When we got back to the condo, Sonja suggested that A.J. and I take a walk to the bar down the street. She would watch the sleeping girls so we could have a drink or two. I submitted only because it was the twenty-fifth and I could really use a walk.

We headed over and sat down at a long wooden table on the beach, hoping to have a quiet night and a couple of beers. Instead, we were assaulted by the sounds of high school kids on spring break singing awful karaoke versions of shit songs like “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Livin’ on a Prayer.” But it was actually perfect. We’d been quiet most of the day, and we both needed the distraction.

I ordered a beer and A.J. a margarita, and we laughed, watching eighteen-year-olds trying to sneak drinks when their parents weren’t looking. As the alcohol flowed, the singing got louder and so did our laughter. Karaoke is supposed to be bad, but this shit was aggravating. I have absolutely no patience for crappy music, so after an hour of ear abuse, I was ready to go.

When we stood up A.J. said, “Hey, remember that New Year’s Eve when we played Karaoke Revolution?”

“Liz loved that fucking game.”

“She even got you to sing,” he said, with a devious look in his eyes and a smirk on his face.

I knew where he was going with this. “Well, I’d had a few more drinks that night. You know damn well that you’ll never hear me sing again.”

“I’m going up there. With or without you.”

“Without me. Wait. You’re not even drunk?”

“I have no shame.”

He went to the front of the place and started in with his standard karaoke song: “Bust a Move.” This had been Liz’s favorite bar in the entire world. She loved sitting on the swings, gripping a Corona Light in one hand, her bare feet not even close to touching the sand below her. I never saw her have more than one beer at a bar, my dainty little lady with the mouth of a truck driver. We’d talk about coming down here with the children we didn’t yet have, and if things worked out well for us, someday retiring here. Fuck, I thought, those dreams evaporated one year ago today. A.J. finished off one of the most horrifically awesome versions of the Young MC song, and it was officially time to get out of there.

I stacked our luggage neatly in the back of the rental car, strapped Madeline securely into her car seat, and climbed into the driver’s seat to wait