Page 43 of At First Spark
“It’ll still be here tomorrow,” I say.
“I know.”
But she says it the same way she said fine earlier. Like agreement and resistance are living in the same breath.
I hold out my hand. She looks at it, then at me.
“What?”
“Keys.”
Her mouth tightens. “I know where I put them.”
“Good. That’ll save us time.”
She stares for one second longer, then reaches into her pocket and drops the keys into my palm.
“I’ll have one of my brothers grab your SUV and bring it to my house, okay?”
“Why? I can drive it, you know.”
“I know, but it would make me feel better, please?” she says with the tiniest pout in her bottom lip that assures me as a child Lark got everything she ever wanted. And that wasn’t about to change now.
Rook heads for the door before either of us does, clearly done with all human complexity for the day.
We load up in silence, knowing the Marshal only approved us to stay through the day.
The drive back to the farm is quieter than this morning's. Not because there’s nothing to say. Because there’s too much.
The sun has started its drop, light shifting gold over the fields and marsh as we pass through town. Main Street is busier now. People out walking. A couple arguing lightly over flower pots outside the nursery. Kids with ice cream near the boardwalk. Life moving as if no one’s carriage house burned last night, as if no old inn sits at the edge of town held together by lists and grief and one woman’s refusal to let it fall.
Lark watches all of it through the window.
“What?”
The word lands a little too quickly. I hadn’t realized I was caught.
“Nothing.”
“That’s not true.”
“No,” I say. “It isn’t.”
She waits.
I keep my eyes on the road.
“You don’t know how to stop.”
A long silence follows that.
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Fair.
I let the corner of my mouth move just enough for her to catch it if she’s looking.
“You notice that.”
