When I walk past the head-shaped dent in the lawn, the maintenance man says to Murph, “Do you smell the ghost?” A girl nearby, perhaps at this, perhaps at something else, with the sunshine on half her face, giggles.

Apparently the top floor of the building across the street is something to see. I haven’t seen it. It’s 30 stories up. It’s a panorama of the city, usually. But last night there must have been nothing to see but fog. When Helen stepped off.

There’s a head-shaped dent on the grass. Do you smell the ghost? Murphy, if she smells Helen’s ghost, doesn’t let me know. Would you open your arms? Would you fly face first? Would you go feet first? No. It couldn’t have been like that. There’s a head-shaped dent in the grass.

SS