We walk into Gillian's Fun Deck on the boardwalk. The July summer evening is slightly cooler than the hot day as the black ocean's white breakers wash sound over this carnival. Dad gets tickets so we can go on the rides. My heart knows I can pine for this, because Dad loves to make us happy. But with restraint. I know not to go after everything--I'll pass up the caramel popcorn wafting it's sweet aroma up in the salty air, or the soft ice cream counter with the twisted brown and white peaked sweetness. The balloon guy is filling up balloons with gas that hisses then chirps at the end. The giant foil shapes lurch on their strings to escape skyward: stars, clown faces, flowers. I'm going to let that pass, too, since I won't be able to carry it around. Dad would get me one. He's like that. I miss him.