Page 57 of The Chaperones

“I appreciate that.” We stand side by side in silence. He’s close enough that I can feel the heat of his body next to mine.

“Shit,” Dave says again. “That’s really awful of her.”

He means Lily. It feels like he means Cassie too. Because it was really awful of her to deny it. It was really awful of her to go off with Charles. Before I know it, Dave’s arm is around my shoulders, and I am leaning against him. I’m about to say something when Dave bends down and presses his mouth to mine. There’s no hesitation. No moment of submission before I push him away. I hunt around, terrified that someone saw. While we’re close enough to hear the laughter of the moms, they are entirely cloaked in darkness. I can only hope that the light from the bathroom is too weak for them to see us, and if it isn’t, that they are too drunk to trust their eyes.

“Shit,” he says, jerking back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know . . . I didn’t mean to do that. Sofie, I’m really . . . shit.”

Sofie. It’s Cassie’s name for me. One no one else uses. One I’ve always hated. Sofie is a dumpy white lady. Sofie is Cassie’s sad sidekick. Sofie is always nice. I’ve never been a Sofie.

“What’s wrong with you?” I wipe my mouth. “What, you need some way of getting back at Cassie, so you try to sleep with her best friend?” I can still feel the pressure of his lips, can still taste the sourness of beer on his breath.

“What do you mean, get back at Cassie?” His voice is clearer, sobered by something I didn’t mean to reveal to him. Or maybe I did. I don’t know anymore.

With perfect timing, the door swings open, and Javi walks out.

“Talk to your wife. That’s between you and her,” I say as I walk away from Dave. Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “And Charles.”

As if on cue, lightning flashes across the sky as thunder roars. Before I can name it a storm, it’s pouring. I grab Javi’s hand, and we run in what I hope is the direction of our tent. In the rain and the blurred light of our small flashlight, it takes us too long to find it. Already, we’re soaked. When the light finally catches the green of our dome, I lug Javi toward it. I fumble with the zipper as the rain pounds our backs.

“Hurry,” Javi shouts. I manage to get the door open and shove my son inside. In the tent, I twist on the lantern and pull off the shirt that clings to Javi’s torso, helping him into fleece pants and a waffle top. I put on dry clothes, too, and we fall into our sleeping bags, laughing.

Javi wiggles closer and throws an arm over me.

“Best day ever,” he murmurs. That quickly, he’s asleep.

I listen to my son’s heavy breathing over the sounds of the storm. As my lids drift shut, a loud boom echoes around us like a bomb. It snaps my eyes open. Raindrops bang against the tent, hard like hail. Inside, it stays dry and warm.

“We need to find two more,” Javi murmurs in his sleep. “Lei, this way. I saw its tail.”

Javi continues to ramble about foxes, his sleep made deeper by the storm outside. Despite the day I’ve had, this trip remains magical for my son.

Before I know it, I feel my body grow heavy, too, my mind blank as the rain beats down on us.