ONE Wednesday afternoon in 2013, I received a frantic call. My older brother Bob had been in an accident. He had been babysitting for two of his granddaughters until just after lunch. Then, sensing it was one of the final bursts of summer, he put on his helmet, hopped on his 2007 Harley and headed down lazy back roads toward the New Jersey shore.

At about the same time, a young waitress at a Monmouth County country club was finishing up lunch service, hoping to get away during her break. She sent a friend several text messages, and she kept on texting as she drove her gray Acura TSX several miles to meet him.

According to the Middletown Township police report, at 3:04 p.m., Bob was heading east on West Front Street. Coming toward him was the Acura, followed, as it happened, by a detective from a nearby town in an unmarked police car.

The detective later told investigators that he saw the Acura turn left abruptly: no turn signal, no brake lights, no apparent recognition of the oncoming Harley.