Free Final Breath by Kevin O'Brien

clunky sneakers and the backward baseball cap, don't knock the way I dress," she'd replied. "You live in a glass house."
    Eli was a handsome boy with brown eyes, long lashes, and a birthmark on his right cheek. He had beautiful, light brown hair which he'd recently--and quite disastrously--tried to cut himself. Sydney had sent him to the barber to fix it, and the only way to do that was a buzz cut. Actually, he looked good with the new haircut and his summer tan. In fact, it made Eli look very much like his father--so much that Sydney sometimes ached inside when she studied him.
    The 1812 Overture was followed by "It's Raining Men," which prompted several people on the rooftop to howl with laughter. "Well, this is my National Anthem!" a flamboyant older man announced, and he started dancing with his hands above his head. Sydney's brother, Kyle, once pointed out to her that no straight man ever danced with his hands above his head. Kyle was gay, and so were most of his friends at the Fourth of July party.
    Sydney kept putting herself in her son's shoes--those clunky sneakers. Last year in Chicago, Eli and his dad had spent July Fourth afternoon playing softball with some people in the neighborhood. This was followed by an impromptu water balloon fight in which Sydney got soaked. It didn't matter, because, like everyone else, she was dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. For dinner, they'd barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers, served with chips and baked beans and potato salad. The evening had ended with the fireworks display on Lake Michigan.
    Tonight, it had been smartly dressed strangers and smart cocktail-party talk with pita bread, hummus, and couscous. Salmon and chicken had been served off the grill with asparagus and risotto. All the adults there were clearly having a wonderful time. But Eli was the only kid. She knew he was miserable. So was she.
    "Look at the smiley-face fireworks over Lake Union," Sydney said, nudging him.
    "Jeeze, how dorky can you get?" Eli muttered. He sighed and then peered down over the rooftop railing. Kyle's town house was on a hill, and from this side of the roof, it was a four-story drop down to the garden and patio below.
    "Listen," she whispered. "If you're having a horrible time, we can go now and beat the post-fireworks rush. Otherwise, we're stuck here for at least another hour, because Uncle Kyle says the traffic is insane in this neighborhood after the fireworks end. So--speak now, or forever hold your peace, kiddo."
    "I'm okay," Eli mumbled. "We can stick around."
    She mussed what little hair was left on his scalp. "You sure?"
    He nodded and looked toward the showering bursts of light over Lake Union.
    Kyle came up to her side. "I'm sorry about Howard," he said under his breath. He nodded toward the older, pudgy, balding man who was dancing round the roof, singing along with "It's Raining Men." He knew all the words. Kyle rolled his eyes. "On a scale from one to ten--ten being totally obnoxious, stereotypically gay--Howard's about a seventeen, especially after he's had a couple of drinks. Is he driving you guys crazy?"
    Sydney laughed and shook her head. "Of course not, he's fine."
    Compared to some of Eli's father's overly macho business associates, she'd take this flamboyantly gay guy any day of the week.
    "He's not your boyfriend, is he?" Eli asked warily.
    "Oh, God, no," Kyle sighed, and then he rolled his eyes. "Please."
    At thirty-four, Kyle was lean and handsome with receding, sand-colored hair and green eyes. Sydney figured her brother was a great catch. Yet in the six weeks since she and Eli had been living in Seattle, Kyle hadn't been on one single date. All the people at this party were friends or in the real estate business with him.
    "I had to invite Howard," Kyle explained in a hushed voice. He led Sydney away from Eli, who stayed by the roof's railing. "He's a big client, and he knows everybody . Plus he was dying to meet you."
    The party guests had made a fuss over her--and