Security was tight at the Republican National Concession, like it always is. But I found a way in, like I always do. I flew into Phoenix on the afternoon hilt from L.A. Popped two Vicodin and didn’t notice the plane was actually moving until we touched down under a hazy midday glow, silhouetting the high tower of Sky Harbor Int’l Airport. Not that I needed the Vicodin for a one‐hour plane flight, but I’d been up for almost 32 hours at that point, scrambling without luck to find a pass into John McCain’s predictable concession speech at the Arizona Biltmore Resort & Spa. And besides, metal detectors have always made me nervous. Upon landing, it was clear that I needed more sleep, certainly, but it was already two p.m. and there was no time for that now.

Evil Jen by Joshua Evangelista

I had not been home, back to the vineyard in almost three decades. That place carried sadness for me. But this was an occasion I couldn’t miss, I wouldn’t let myself. I hadn’t spoken to him in four years, not since our last fallout. I regretted it, all the way to the airport, in the terminal, sitting on the plane and looking out along the clouds. A feeling, a burden, a stomach fire building as I got closer to The Valley. Uncle James picked me up from the airport. Seeing him, his graying beard, his rosy, sun‐burnt cheeks and glassy eyes… He reminded me of dad. My father, to whom I hadn’t spoke in so long, whom I hadn’t seen since Carrie and I were married. My father, who had died last night, taking with him any chance I had of saying good bye, of telling him I was sorry.