Marcus was the one true love of Andy’s life. It often felt like he was still living in that little apartment with us, even though he’d been gone for two years. He’d been a brilliant pianist, and his notebooks and cassettes were still piled in the closet. His photos still hung on the wall. And Andy kept his ashes in a painted box on the dresser. Back in the eighties, Austin was much more of a hobo, hippie town, and that’s exactly the kind of couple they had been. They’d go on hikes, bike rides and swim in the river. They’d visit with friends and whenever they could afford it, they’d travel. There was one summer when Andy got hired to do some decorative painting on a guesthouse in Puerto Vallarta, and he brought Marcus with him. They spent a magical summer there. It was owned by a woman named Sylvia, and she gave them a free room overlooking the ocean.