'Cause I've seen love die
Way too many times
When it deserved to be alive
Paramore, "Emergency"

As the July sun set over Las Vegas, turning the humid desert air crisp and cool, Roger sat in the fenced-in backyard of his younger brother Calvin's house, stretched out on a lawn chair. He wore sunglasses, even in the early twilight. His dark blonde hair, which had grown long, was pulled into a ponytail. His nephew, Will, who'd turned eight that spring, sat in his lap, playing with the rings on the silver chain around Roger's neck.

"Uncle Roger, what are these?" Will asked innocently, cocking his head.

"My rings."

"Don't rings go on your finger?" He slipped his finger into the band that had once been Mimi's. "See?"

Roger laughed. "Yeah, buddy, I see."

"How come you have two?"

"They're wedding rings." Roger felt an overwhelming sadness, but did not let his face betray his emotions. "One belonged to your aunt Mimi."

"Aunt Mimi?" Will repeated. Of course Will was too young to remember Mimi—she'd died before he formed a memory of her.

"Yeah," Roger said. "She…she died a long time ago, buddy. When you were a baby."

"Is that why I don't remember her?"

"Mm-hmm," Roger responded. "She knew you, though, before she died. Your parents came to visit us in New York after you were born and she adored you." He recalled Mimi sitting on the floor of the loft, cuddling infant Will, her face lit up like the tree in Rockefeller Center at Christmas.

"She did?"

"She did. She wanted to see you grow up very badly."

"Oh. She still can, right? She sees me from Heaven."

Roger didn't know what to say. The innocence of a child had struck him dumb for several seconds. "That's right, kiddo. She sees you from Heaven. Like an angel."

Will smiled brightly. "I have an angel?"

"Yeah, of course you do."

"Do you have one, Uncle Roger?"

"Sure I do. He watches over me like your aunt Mimi watches over you." An angel of the first degree...

Roger's sister-in-law, Layla, with her newborn daughter on her shoulder, came out to the yard. "There you are," she said to her son. "Time to come inside, Will. You need a bath before you go to bed."

Will pouted. "Few more minutes?"

"Come on, the bugs will be out soon and I don't want you to get eaten alive," she admonished.

Roger gave his nephew a nudge. "It's alright, buddy. We'll chill tomorrow, okay? Go inside."

Sighing, the boy slid off his uncle's lap and trudged into the house. Roger stood and stretched his back, yawning.

"Thanks," Layla said with a small laugh. "Could you take the baby for a few minutes while I run the bath?"

"Sure," Roger said with a small smile. Layla took the cloth diaper off her shoulder and placed it on his before lowering the baby into his outstretched arms. Sarah Charlotte Davis, two weeks old. His new niece. He knew that he and Mimi would never have had children, so his niece and nephew were a blessing to him.

He followed Layla into the condo, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Cal, Roger's brother, was sitting on the living room couch beside Will, watching some cartoon show. The living room still contained a small collection of baskets and flower arrangements with balloons attached announcing Congratulations and It's a Girl!

"William, get into the bathroom," Layla commanded.

"Just a minute!" the boy protested.

"Hey," Cal said, glancing at his son, "you didn't tell me you were supposed to be taking a bath. Get your butt in there."

Will giggled and scurried off the couch as Layla ushered him away. Roger laughed and took Will's place beside Cal, still cradling baby Sarah.

"He's got a lot of energy," Roger remarked.

"Mmm," Cal replied affirmatively.

"A lot like a certain someone I remember."

"I don't think I was that hyperactive!"

"I remember you pouncing on me like I was a giant beanbag," Roger recalled as Cal chuckled at the memory.

There was a five year age gap between Roger and his younger brother. They grew up close, but once Roger moved to the East Village with Mark Cohen after high school, his relationship with Cal suffered, even more so once he got heavily into drugs. When Roger married Mimi the year before Will was born, the brothers reunited and remained close.

In terms of looks, the Davis brothers were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Cal was dark-haired and clean shaven, contrasting with Roger's blonde fairness. However, they both had bright green eyes and cleft chins, and both were gifted artistically—Roger on the guitar and Cal with ink and paper.

Sarah began to fuss and Roger glanced down at the newborn with a smile. "Hey, what's the matter…"

Cal shifted to peer at the baby in Roger's arms. "She's making sure we don't forget about her," he replied.

"Who can forget about her?" Roger shifted the baby in his arms, cooing gently to her.

"Damn, Roger. I didn't think I'd ever live to see the day you melt over a baby."

"Neither did I," Roger agreed. And it was true. Sometime between losing Angel and losing Mimi, Roger had been filled with a newfound appreciation for life. Even now, that Mimi was gone, Roger had a deeper understanding of how beautiful and precious everything around him was.

The phone rang and Cal and Roger gave each other incredulous looks.

"You expecting a call?" Cal asked.

"No…no one knows I'm here."

"Think again," Cal replied, getting off the couch. "Mark Cohen calls here looking for you every so often."

"Does he?"

"Calvin!" Layla's voice came from the bathroom. "Get the phone!"

"Got it!" Cal responded, picking up the receiver of the portable phone, tucking it between his shoulder and his ear. "Hello?"

Sarah suddenly began to cry, trying to kick free of the blankets swaddled around her. Roger tried to soothe her and listen to Cal's end of the conversation at the same time. A few moments later, Cal nudged Roger's shoulder with the portable phone. "For you."

"For me?" Roger repeated. "Here…take her."

"Trade you phone for baby," Cal joked, scooping the wailing baby out of Roger's arms and handing Roger the phone.

As Cal left the room cradling Sarah, Roger spoke into the receiver, "Hello?"

"Roger! Wow, you're there!"

"Mark? We were just talking about you."

"Were you? Why? Never mind, not important. Look, I called for a reason," Mark said hurriedly. "Collins is back. He's moving back to New York."

"Wow. Really? He left California? I thought he was out there for good."

"Apparently not, but he asked me to get into contact with you. I wasn't sure how else to get in touch with you, so I called Cal to see if he knew."

"Is that why you call here?"

"Oh…yeah, sometimes. Just to, you know, see if you've settled anywhere."

"So, what are you saying here, Mark, that you want me to come back to New York?"

"In a roundabout way, yeah. But not for me. For Collins."

Roger bit his lip. "I don't know if I can do that."

"Why not?"

"I haven't been in New York since…since…" He couldn't continue.

"Since Mimi died," Mark finished for him. "Look, we're not asking you to stay for long. A week at most. You can sleep on the couch at my place."

Roger paused for a long while. "I don't want to impose."

"You're not."

"I'll have to drive there…I can't leave my car here and I don't have the money to fly. It'll take me a few days."

"That's okay."

Another long pause. "I can be there in a week or so. Give or take."

"That's cool," Mark said. "I can't wait to see you. It's kind of exciting, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"Call me when you get in, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sure," Roger said hurriedly. "I'll do that."

"Great. Later, then."

"Later." Roger hung up and sighed. He hadn't been back to New York since Mimi died—nearly seven years. This was going to be tough for him…but how many times had Collins been there when he was needed? The least he could do was show up, make an appearance, greet his old friend.

He decided to leave the next morning.