She raised an eyebrow.
“Ben keeps disappearing to his truck.”
“Maybe he’s feeding a stray cat under there. You know how he is.”
“He’s not a cat person. He’s barely a dog person.”
She laughed, but I couldn’t quite join her.
I kept my eyes on the corner of the house, waiting for him to come back.
When he did, he grabbed two water bottles from the cooler without breaking stride.
He didn’t even glance at me.
“Maybe he’s feeding a stray cat under there.”
“Ben.”
“One more check, promise.”
His voice sounded tighter than before, thinner, like a wire pulled almost to snapping.
His eyes darted toward the curb, then to me, then away again.
That was when I noticed his hands were trembling.
I set down the serving spoon I had been white-knuckling.
His hands were trembling.
“I’m going to check on him,” I told Rachel.
“He said it was fine.”
“That’s exactly what worries me.”
Across the yard, the kids screamed with laughter as someone lit the first sparkler of the evening.
The sky was beginning to bruise into dusk.
Somewhere down the street, an early firework popped like a warning shot.
“I’m going to check on him,”
The sky above our backyard exploded in bursts of red and gold.
Every neighbor tipped their head back toward the lake.
I let them drift toward the water with their lawn chairs and sparklers.
This was my chance.
I set my paper plate down on the picnic table and walked quietly around the side of the house, toward the curb where Ben’s old pickup sat under the streetlight.
This was my chance.
My hands shook as I lifted the tailgate.
The camping mattress.
My yellow blanket.
And curled beneath it, a young woman with dark hair matted to her forehead.
She jolted awake before I could speak.
Her hand shot out and clamped around my wrist so hard it stung.
