'That's bullshit,' said Albert. 'It's one thing if you're burying the corpse of your sainted twin brother in the backyard, but you don't just summarily execute two people in cold blood unless you're after something.'

'Unless you're really sick, you mean?' said Conni.

'No, not sick,' said Albert. 'Just... detached. From themselves, from their parents. You have to forget a part of yourself to do murder.'

'A part of yourself most people don't forget,' said Kristina.

'I don't know. Maybe,' Albert allowed, staring at Kristina. 'But who are we to judge other people, though? Are we so perfect?'

'Yes,' said Conni, smiling.

Kristina couldn't smile at all. 'We know what is right and what is wrong. Shooting your parents is wrong.'

'Oh, come on,' said Albert, waving his hand dismissively. 'Nietzsche says if there is one absolute truth it's that there are no moral facts.'

'Bullshit,' said Kristina quietly. 'I don't buy it. There are. Moral truth is not an illusion, no matter what Nietzsche says. There are things that are categorically wrong. Killing your parents has to be one of them.'

Albert said, 'The brothers maintain the parents abused them.' When Kristina didn't answer, he said, 'See, there's always another side.'

Mock-shivering, Conni said, 'Brrrr, great conversation, guys. Myself, I love my parents. I couldn't even imagine conspiring with Douglas to shoot them. Though I'm not so sure about Douglas.'

They all laughed. Conni glanced at Albert, rubbing his arm lovingly. 'Must be hard for you, Albert,' she said. 'No parents.'

Albert said, 'And no religion, too.' They were all quiet. He shrugged. 'It's been too long. College has a way of making you forget the outside world. Life is just this and nothing else.'

Conni touched Albert's upper arm and said affectionately, 'Your tattoo, though. You'll never forget your mom with that thing on you forever.'

Albert raised his eyebrows. 'I thought you liked my tattoo, Conn,' he said. 'Isn't it roguish and devilish?'

'Oh, yes, oh, yes.' She giggled and blushed and widened her blue eyes at him.

Jim went to get more beers, and Kristina fed Aristotle some more cake. Conni said, not looking at anyone in particular, T guess that's why you guys seem so close,' and, without missing a beat, without pausing, without inflection, 'Both of you not having moms and all.'

'I have a mother,' said Kristina. 'She's just very sick.' She saw them glance awkwardly away from her. Jim returned with beer.

'Krissy, come with us, me and Albert,' Conni offered, trying to sound chipper. 'My parents will be so happy to see you again. Come on. It'll be fun. If there's snow, we'll go sledding down to the Sound. We'll build ice statues.'

'Oh, no!' exclaimed Albert. 'No ice statues! Remember she built an ice penis?'

Conni laughed hysterically. 'Yeah, wasn't that great?'

'Oh, yeah, your parents really thought so.'

'Oh, never mind them, they love Kristina. Come, Krissy.'

Kristina shook her head. 'I think I'm going to stay put.'

'Stay put?' said Jim.

Kristina explained about Evelyn Moss's babies. 'Plus I got a game on Saturday.'

'With that arm?' Jim scoffed. 'Yeah, in your dreams.'

'Just you watch,' Kristina said defiantly.

'Well, when were you going to tell me, Kristina?' said Jim, tapping loudly on the table. 'It's Monday night already. I thought you were coming with me.'

'I can't Jimbo,' said Kristina, her shoulder burning. 'Evelyn is having her babies any minute. I promised her I'd be there.'

'As you wish,' Jim said irritably.

'Go with Jim, Kristina,' said Albert. 'Evelyn's got parents and siblings. She doesn't need you.'

'Yes, she does,' Kristina answered, offended. And I need her.

Jim said without turning to look at Kristina, 'Do you want me to take you to the infirmary? Maybe you've suffered brain damage.'

'How could you tell?' said Conni and laughed at her own joke. 'But seriously, Kristina, you should go.'

Albert stayed quiet.

'Says who?' Kristina asked.

'If I were you, I'd go,' Conni said, opening another can of Bud for herself. 'What if something horrible happened?'

'Something horrible did happen,' said Kristina. 'An oncoming car hit me. My Mustang went off the embankment, turned over once, I think it was once, and landed. I'm still not sure if I'm alive or dead.'

Jim reached out and caressed her neck. 'Go to the infirmary,' he suggested. 'They'll tell you.'

'They won't tell me, they'll arrest me for drunk driving.'

'Were you?' asked Conni, cautiously. 'Were you... drinking?'

'Of course not! But they're not going to know that.'

'So go tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow I'll be all better.'

Leaning over the table with her elbows, Conni said, 'Seriously, Krissy, weren't you scared? Sounds like a nasty accident.'

'Scared? Yes, I was scared. And it was nasty. I mean, think about it.' Kristina could barely get the words out. 'Somebody could be coming right now to tell you I was dead. The police. Dead. I mean, what would you do?'

'Finish the cake?' offered Jim. Nobody laughed.

'Jim!' said Conni. 'Krissy, it would be awful, just awful. But don't think like that. Think positive. You're okay, you're not dead.'

'But I could've been dead. Easily.'

'It wasn't your time to die,' said Jim, tapping on his bottle of Miller.

'Why not?' she asked. 'I mean, I didn't just avoid an accident. I was in an accident. Remember the driver's ed course? Head-on collisions result in the most fatalities of any type of car accident. Why aren't I dead?'

'Jim's right,' said Conni. 'It wasn't time yet.'

'How do you know? Maybe I was meant to die.'

'No.' Jim tapped on his beer. 'If it was time you'd die.'

Slowly, Kristina said, 'How do you know - when... when it's time?'

'You don't. You just die.'

Kristina shuddered. 'See, that's just awful. That's the most awful thing. Never knowing. At any moment, you could die, and you just don't know. And why? Why would you die? I mean, I know why old people die, but why would I die?'

'You didn't,' said Jim, getting up and throwing his Miller away. 'You didn't because you're too young to die, and it wasn't time. You'll now live till ninety telling all your great-grandkids about the time you almost bought the farm on your twenty-first birthday.'

'Yeah, great, maybe a bedtime story,' said Kristina.

The conversation wound down. They talked about the promised snow-storm - twenty to twenty-eight inches starting tomorrow afternoon and snowing well into the night and the following morning. Many people had already left to beat the snow. Others were leaving a day later to wait it out. Kristina asked Conni when they were leaving. Wednesday morning, Conni replied.

Kristina could barely get up, and when she did, she noticed Albert's fists were clenched. Unclench your stupid fists, she wanted to tell him. Who is he so angry at? Jim? Conni, for believing everything, for buying everything? At her? For not going to Canada with him, as if going meant solving everything, instead of solving nothing?

They all cleaned up, except for Kristina, whose arm was starting to hurt with an intensity alien to her.

When they all got up to leave, Kristina bravely said, 'I'll walk the dog.'

'I'll walk him,' Jim said quickly. Kristina had been hoping Albert would offer, but she guessed that was impossible after last night. Besides, she and Jim could use the time to make up or to fight; both were equally likely. Kristina wished that tonight she could be left alone to lick her wounds.

'G'night, Kristina,' said Albert. 'Happy birthday.'

'Happy birthday,' Kristina repeated. Inside her was a welt of pain, a knot that tied her up and broke her and spilled what was left all over the floor.

She stumbled out of the kitchen with Jim close behind her.

She wished she could tell Jim what she was feeling. The confusion, the fear, the aching, and the sense of a short-lived life. Kristina didn't want to be alone.

She wanted Albert.

She wanted to feel as she had always felt with him, that she wasn't alone in the world, that there was someone who was with her, and that someone was the person she loved most. And that person was Albert.

Kristina wanted Albert. But Albert was with Conni.

'Jim? Would you please walk Aristotle tonight?' she asked. She looked down at her ragged old sneakers. 'Please.'

Jim walked Aristotle, and Kristina didn't come with him. She said she wasn't feeling well, and that was true, but it was also true that she didn't want to be out there in the dark. While he was gone, Kristina slowly took off her clothes and haphazardly changed the sheets.

When Jim returned he had to put on a clean pillowcase because Kristina couldn't do it. He didn't undress and they didn't talk. He just sat on the bed and looked at Aristotle, while Kristina walked around the room. It was better to move around - she didn't feel as stiff as when she was sitting. After ten minutes of circling around, she sat gingerly in the lounge chair. It still smelled like Albert.

Kristina sat mutely in her chair. Maybe I should go to the infirmary, she thought. My body, my body. It's aching, it's hurting bad.

Finally Jim looked at Kristina, coldly. 'You've been drinking, Krissy.'

'So have you.' she replied, rubbing her rib, her leg, her head. 'Three Millers.' Even when he was upset with her he couldn't stop calling her Krissy, not Kristina, not Kris, not honey, not pumpkin, but Krissy.

Shaking his head, Jim said, unsmiling, 'Miller Lites, and only two. No, I mean you've been drinking a lot.'

'It's not so bad,' Kristina said slowly.

'Yes, it is,' he said, matter-of-factly. 'I watched you go up the stairs. You were like on a high wire with a pole in your hand. Immobile. Too bad it's not snowing. Otherwise you'd be out there on that bridge, wouldn't you?'

She smiled. 'Want me to go on that bridge, Jimbo?'

Shrugging, he said, 'It doesn't matter.'

Kristina thought that once it had mattered. 'I used to scare you so much when I used to do that,' she said ruefully.

'Yeah, well...' He trailed off. 'Besides, you don't want to go up there. You need two arms for balance.'

'I'll show you,' she said. 'I'll be the one-armed circus artist, balancing myself on the wire -'

'Yeah, and I'll be the one picking up what's left of your body off Tuck Drive below.'

Will you be that man? Kristina wondered to herself. Will you really be the man who will pick up my broken body off the concrete?

'I've never fallen yet,' Kristina said. That time last February didn't count.

'Krissy, statistically, the odds are against you,' said Jim, slowly, quietly. He doesn't want to be in this conversation at all, thought Kristina.

'Jimbo, it's not statistics. It's guts. No guts, no glory.'

'I see. What about the bullfighters? They have plenty of guts. And the bulls every once in a while show us plenty of their guts.'

Kristina smirked.

'I mean, aren't you scared to do it?'

'I've told you, of course I am.'

'Oh yeah. That's the point, isn't it? To be scared shitless.'

'No, the point is to be scared shitless and still do it.'

He paused. 'Yeah, but naked? Why do you have to do it naked?'

Smiling, she said, 'It's the exhibitionist streak in me. In my freshman year, I saw a couple of guys at Epsilon House after one party take off their clothes and run screaming down Tuck Drive to the river and jump in. I just thought it was the funniest thing.'

'Krissy,' said Jim, 'somehow I don't think those guys should be your role models.'