Page 11 of Wreckage and Rain

I take his wrist, lift his hand, and drop it back on his own leg.

I never look at him.

It is the loudest thing I say all night.

Eventually, Cheyenne stands.

“It was great seeing you, Summer.”

She sounds warm and effortless, like she has all the room in the world to be gracious.

Maybe she does.

She is the only person at the table who didn’t lose anything tonight.

I don’t wait for the check.

I don’t wait for Colt.

I pick up my bag and start moving before he is out of his chair. Between the tables. Past the hostess. Through the door and into the dark.

If I sit there one more minute pretending I’m fine, I am going to come apart in the middle of the restaurant.

I will not do that where they can watch.

Colt catches up with me on the sidewalk.

The wind coming off the harbor smells like salt, pluff mud, and the jasmine that grows wherever it feels like it.

“You okay?”

“I’m great.” Bulletproof. “Just walking. The air feels nice.”

“Let me drive you.”

“No, thank you.”

I keep moving.

He says something behind me. Then something else.

I let the distance take his words.

I hold the smile until the end of the block because there are still people around. I make it around the corner on momentum and good posture. One more block after that.

Then my hands begin to shake.

They always do when I’ve been forcing them to stay still for too long.

I stop beside the brick wall of someone else’s building and let the market bag fall against my leg.

I stand alone in the dark and shake.

This time, there is no one here I have to smile for.

Colt

Cheyenne closes her laptop.