The wooden blinds drawn before the amber streetlight just outside her bedroom window, "The last memory..." projected a thin row of horizontal shadows across the bed, "of seeing my father alive," onto the wall behind them, "was when I was sitting on the edge of his bed watching Nadia Comaneci..." and a portion of the ceiling, "on the parallel bars during the summer Olympics." They were lying naked beneath a thick down comforter with their arms and legs entwined. Earlier she had been able to appease him with earnest reassurances that his insecurities about any potential infidelities were unfounded and finally convince him that she had no interest in renewing her relationship with Cindy by describing how rapidly that affair had disintegrated. He cleared his throat before asking, "What summer was this?" The resolve in her tone while relating this memory, "The summer... of," counters her mounting suspicions, "July of Seventy-Six," that the litany of decisive events she has been prompted to relate may be coolly deconstructed and fictionalized in his yet to be written first novel. Is he aware of his contrived earnestness, "Four years before I was born," and how has she confused this pale role with the limitations of youth and inexperience? The warmth in her tone, "Yeah well," and the bottle of champagne they had shared while sitting on the couch, "I was seventeen that summer," fused with the clarity drawn from their intimacy in the immediacy of this enclosed space, "and this city was another world then," led to his repeated proclamations of love and she really wanted to believe that everything he was saying was true. A pair of headlights slowly crossed the ceiling while he waited for her to continue speaking. Looking out the window as the cab she was sitting in sped across the Brooklyn Bridge, "I knew that..." while beginning again in a dry whisper, "...that something was wrong," and the skyscrapers in mid-town were a brown silhouette in the smog filled distance. Caressing the nape of her neck, "How so?" The humid air blowing through the wide-open rear windows smelled of tar and diesel fumes, "He was really out of it after the last operation," quietly clearing her throat, "and was having trouble walking... and I’d been really reluctant," while recalling the emptiness that had filled her chest, "I was really dreading going back there," as the cab gradually descended the ramp leading to the north-bound lanes of the FDR drive. Cupping his palms over her breasts, "Where was it?" A car horn on the corner muffled by the closed windows and the silence in the bedroom that ensued after she placed her chin on his shoulder, "In Turtle Bay," and closed her eyes. "Where is that?" A tug pushing a gray barge filled with garbage down the East River moved slowly against the incoming tide as a large flock of seagulls trailed above it. "It’s the neighborhood by the U. N.," The sun broke through a gap in the clouds as a passenger helicopter took off from the roof of the Pan-Am building, "that’s where I grew up." The cab driver asked if she’d been following the news about that busload of children that had been kidnapped in Northern California. "Why is it called that?" Shaking her head before saying that she had only read the headlines, "There was once a creek there that led to the harbor and the Dutch had a turtle farm," and that it sounded really terrible, "you know I think they make silly pets." The driver nodded before activating the blinker and merging into the exit lane. "Why is that?" She removed the cigarettes from her purse and tapped one out of the pack while claiming that she had enough to worry about, "You can’t cuddle with a turtle," then placed it between her lips with trembling fingers. Watching her closely in the rearview mirror, "No not like cats at least," finally lighting the cigarette with a small green disposable lighter before asking if she was okay, "where do you think she is anyway?" Exhaling a thin cloud of smoke, "Probably sleeping on the couch," and then saying that she wasn’t sure while looking away from the reflection of his watery blue eyes, "I think she’s had a hectic day," and out the window as the cab slowly pulled through the intersection.