Heart On Fire Excerpt

Chapter One

Edwin Levine - you set my heart on fire.

When I wrote those words in Edwin’s yearbook last year, complete with our initials and 2GETHA 4EVA in a big bubble heart, it was supposed to be a joke not a psychic forecast. Just another spur of the moment stunt like all the others I pulled to get a laugh out of my ex-best friend, Cece. Edwin was a legend. A name we heard over the intercom for detention twice a week. The guy who invented ugly sexy. The epitome of bad news. And his yearbook was strikingly devoid of signatures, except for his name neatly printed on the inside cover, and one little note on page five from the art teacher (who was apparently very proud of him). I mean, really. How could I possibly say no when Cece suggested I sign it?

Well, now that I’ve gone over it in my head about a million times, the real question is: how could I have been so stupid. True that I couldn’t have really predicted such a simple thoughtless act would turn out the way it did, but if I had been born with a spine, maybe I would have just put the book down and walked away. If I’d done that, things would be so different.

Cece and I might still be friends.

I might be able to sleep at night.

I probably have a normal relationship by now, instead of having the impression that every perfectly nice guy I know is a sheltered little boy.

I’d definitely be a lot less fucked up inside. Which on the outside might seem like a blessing, but that’s the real kicker.

If none of this had ever happened, I would have missed so much. I never would have known how high a real fire could burn if you threw gasoline on it. And I never, never would have known about that dark needy place inside myself. The part that still misses him, still hungers for his touch, still wants to take care of him and make everything okay, even after every sick thing he did.

*

The smell of cigarettes makes me think of him.

I used to find it disgusting when people smoked like chimneys. I hated the smell of their clothes. Hated the way they looked puffing away, smoke blowing out their pinched up faces when they talked. It was definitely a prejudice I got from my goody-goody, hater parents. They always referred to smokers as some sort of lower life form. Selfish assholes who cared about no one but themselves. I never realized how much of their ridiculousness I’d absorbed until Edwin came along. I still don’t smoke. But now the smell of it doesn’t send me into a rabid tirade about my lungs and my health and me-me-me. It makes me remember how I first got to know him. And then I get to thinking about how far he came before everything went down, and all I want is to bury my face in his smoky-smelling shirt one more time and hold on for dear life.

It was no accident how I came to know him - more a process of guilt and compulsion. I was a cashier at the IGA and Edwin worked nights and weekends as a mechanic at the garage across the street. He came in two or three times a week last summer, scowling, reeking of motor oil and sweat, to get a Mountain Dew and a pack of GPC’s. I was sure he didn’t remember me from school, much less know it was me who tagged his yearbook, but I couldn’t help staring just the same. The exact opposite of me, Edwin was unforgettable in every way. Tall, cut, and mean. With a big mouth, a crooked nose, imperfect teeth. Eyes a shade of hazel somewhere between green and gold. Attitude and magnetism in spades.

Every time I saw him was the same as the last. I made sure of it. I greeted him politely, pretended I didn’t know he wanted cigarettes until he asked for them, fetched them from the case, and quietly rang in his order. Edwin did his part to maintain our awkward silence, too, pretending I didn’t exist except when he handed over his cash and muttered thanks. It was a well-rehearsed tango that I’m sure would have continued indefinitely if I hadn’t ever needed his help that Saturday evening when my car wouldn’t start.

It was just past closing time, and my manager had just driven away leaving me the last one out of the IGA parking lot.

I turned the key again, and nothing.

“Damn it.” I punched the steering column, realizing I was probably the only person on earth who didn’t have a cellular, and there wasn’t even a pay phone on the corner anymore to use to call my dad.

I glanced across the street toward the garage where Edwin worked. The lights were still on, even though I knew they were closed, too. What were the chances they’d help me out?

Halfway into the crosswalk at the intersection my palms started sweating as I spotted the Ford F-150 Edwin drove. Edwin and I had looked each other in the eye and said hello dozens of times now. How hard could it be to ask him to use the phone? A car sped by me, downshifting, the driver laying on the horn and I hurried into the store, a bundle of flustered nerves.

The place stunk like grease and old dirt, and the service desk was totally abandoned, flanked on either side with parts, parts, and more parts. I craned my neck to see into the office beyond. That desk was empty, too.

“Hello?” I called out, dinging the bell twice, trying to put a little sugar in my voice. My mom said you caught more flies with honey, or some shit like that, and since I needed a favor I’d better at least try to sound nice.

I looked around the store. No sign of anyone among the racks of overpriced snacks, air fresheners, muscle-head and plastic-wrapped skin mags. A few chairs sat near the grimy window, a coffee maker with a handwritten “free for paying customers” sign on the nearby counter top, right next to a slushee machine serving up two batches of the same flavor. Red.

I turned back toward the desk, and tried to see out back. Someone had to be there. They wouldn’t just leave their door open and lights on like that.

“Hello?” I called, stepping around the counter.

The garage out back was partially visible now. Filthy still, but orderly. There was a car parked in the center, and I could see legs extending out from underneath it. Long, strong legs clad in dark jeans, one bent at an angle. My heart went pitter-pat – like it does when you’re about to get caught. I don’t know if I was more worried about being out back when I wasn’t supposed to be, or the fact that I knew those legs belonged to Edwin.

“Hi,” I said louder, more clearly. “Sorry to bug you-“

“You can’t be back here.” Edwin slid out from under the car, a frown on his fugly face for a split second before recognition glimmered in his eye. He pulled an earbud from his ear, and let it dangle as he sat up. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry-“ I glanced back toward the store, suddenly unsure of why I’d thought coming here was such a great idea. I swallowed, feeling like a fly caught in a spider web. “My car died,” I said weakly.

“Yeah, well, we’re closed,” he said.

My face burned. So stupid. “Of course you are. I just thought maybe-”

“We open at seven in the morning.” He looked me up and down, eyes lingering on my legs, and I suddenly remembered my short shorts. Our store wasn’t air-conditioned, so Steve didn’t mind if we wore them. I’m not one for showing off, but I hate roasting even worse, and usually I was behind the register anyway, so people couldn’t really see what I was wearing. But now I was hyper aware of the warm weight of Edwin’s eyes. I took a step back toward where I’d entered the garage.

“I’ll just um… go.”

I trucked out of there, unable to believe my nerve. Where on earth had I gotten the idea that Edwin Levine would do me a favor. Me? The girl who had made fun of him in his own yearbook. Lucky he didn’t know it was me, but still… We had never actually been properly introduced. Why would he help me? Why would I even ask him to?
I speed-walked back through the store and right into someone wearing stained coveralls.

“Whoa, are you okay? Something I can help you with?”

I looked up into the guy’s craggy face. “No sir,” I said. “My car broke down, and I was just hoping to get it looked at tonight, but you’re closed-“

Edwin’s voice cut me off from behind the counter. “I’ll have a look at it. Where is it?”

“You don’t have to. I understand,” I said. Something made me look back at him. The same something that made me watch him when he walked away from the IGA. Guilt, maybe? Fear? Sissy, girly feelings for sure.

He used a blackened towel to wipe his hands, and then tossed it on the back counter, coming toward me.

My stomach tightened into a ball. No. It wasn’t guilt or fear I was feeling. But I was way too nervous being near him to fully acknowledge how large my fascination with him had grown.

I backed away, keeping my distance as he led the way out the door. He didn’t do anything gentlemanly like hold the door, and he walked across the street without going to the crosswalk. Fearless. Like he owned the road. I looked both ways before trotting after him.

“Keys,” he said, palm open.

I handed them over without a word, and waited, hands clasped to keep them from shaking, as he unlocked the door and slid in, pushing the seat back as far as it would go. He tried the engine a few times, trying the lights. Then he popped the hood and got out.

“Got a flashlight?” He asked, all business.

I got him one from the trunk, and stood beside him, still at what I considered a safe distance, as he inspected the wires and connections, taking little things apart and putting them back together. He even checked the oil, wiping the dipstick right on his worn and dirty gray shirt.

“My dad just filled that up,” I said, as he started to unscrew the washer fluid cap. “I know that much.”

“So I can’t check it?”

My cheeks flushed. “Well, it’s not the reason the car won’t start.”

“No. You need a new battery for that.” He checked some other fluid, and then leaned on the hood. “I think we’ve got one that’ll work. I guess I can put it in for you tonight if you want. It’s not that hard.”

“Really? Tonight? I mean, I’m kinda broke,” I muttered, embarrassed. “I mean my dad will pay for this… But I’ll need to give him a call. That’s all I actually wanted in the first place. Just to use the phone. I need a ride home. Or a jump or something.”
His mouth twisted sideways, his eyes turning skyward for a split second. Like he didn’t really want to say what he was about to say. “I’ll take you home, work on it in the morning if you want.”

Edwin raised an eyebrow. “Well, I can try to jump it. I’ll give you a lift if it doesn’t work.”

“Really?” I smiled with relief, truly grateful that he was being nice over this, and not at all the jerk everyone made him out to be. Especially when I’d secretly been a bitch to him, and didn’t deserve an ounce of his niceness. “That would be super.”
“Sure thing. Be right back.”

He took off across the street and when he returned in his truck a few minutes later, he hauled out a set of jumper cables and got to work.

“You should probably let it run awhile,” he said, when the engine was running. “Improve the chances it’ll start for you in the morning.”

“Sure. Okay. Thank you.” My mouth was dry. “You really didn’t have to do this.”

“Well you asked. And I try not to leave pretty girls stranded on street corners after dark.”

Edwin parked his butt on a bench nearby and whipped out a cigarette, in no real hurry to leave.

“Those things’ll kill you,” I said, wandering over a little closer, shoving my hands as deep into my shorts pockets as they’d go. It was chilly out, and my legs were covered in goose bumps, but it seemed rude to get in my car when he’d just gone out of his way to help me. “You really should quit.” God. What was that? A little friendly advice? I pressed my lips together. Maybe I should work harder at being nice. I’d never been very good at small talk.

“Can’t quit,” he said, exhaling softly. The cloud of his smoke enveloped me for a split second. Felt hot and harsh in my lungs. “I’ve tried.”

Edwin Levine was talking. To me. And my mouth was off and running again. “Come on, it’s not like you’re forty-five and have been smoking for twenty years. You could at least cut back to a pack a week.”

“I have cut back,” he said, eyeing me. “Had my first cigarette when I was ten. I was smoking a pack a day by my sixteenth birthday. Down to three a week – that’s progress if you ask me.”

“Yeah. I guess. But it’s kind of an expensive habit, isn’t it?” I wanted to shut my piehole. I really did. “If you can’t do it for your health, do it for the money. Think of how much you could save between now and when you retire. My dad showed me once how interest compounds.” Jeezus. I sounded just dad. Running my mouth was probably the only trait I ever inherited from the jerk. “I’m sorry. I’m gonna shut up now.”

Edwin just chuckled, unoffended. “I ain’t ever gonna fucking retire. Retirement’s for people with money. People like you.”

“People like me?” I laughed through my nose. Really attractive. “My family’s not rich or anything.”

“You are to some people.” He crushed his cigarette under the heel of his boot, clearly irritated with me. “Look at you with your nice new clothes and your Jetta. I bet your daddy gave you that for your birthday or something.”

“My dad doesn’t give me anything. I earned it. For getting honor roll all last year.” I loathed the implication that I was spoiled. “And I have to pay my own insurance and gas, and it has a hundred thousand miles on it-“

“He bought it out of state. No rust on it anywhere. Nice car. Worth more than anything I ever owned.”

I looked away, biting my tongue and the sudden silence between us threatened to choke me. He didn’t seem bothered. He was probably used to chicks being speechless and stupid around him. He smoked another cigarette, casually flicking the filter across the parking lot when he was done, and starting back toward his truck.

“That oughta be alright now. Your drive home is what? Ten minutes to the Tree streets?”

“Fifteen.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me again. “If you go the speed limit.”

“I do.”

“Of course you do.”

The fact that he knew I lived on a Tree street meant he’d been watching me. Closer than I’d been watching him even. And despite my irritation with him, I found that strangely titillating. Edwin Levine was watching me? What the hell? Was I interesting or something?

“Let it run a few more minutes, okay? When you get home? Maybe it’ll start tomorrow morning for you. You’re gonna need a new battery before winter though. Maybe before next week. This one’s sick.”

He loaded the cables into the bed of his pickup, and then he pulled open the driver’s side door. I looked across the street to the garage. The lights had gone dim. I guessed he was going home, too. And for some reason, the only thing I could think was how unfair it was that I didn’t know what street he lived on.
Thank him. Thank him and go home and forget it.

“Thanks, Edwin,” I said. “By the way, I’m sorry I’ve never properly introduced myself. My name is-”

“Jennifer,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up into a crooked sexy smile that practically liquefied my insides from ten feet away. “I’ll see you later.”

I stood there as he drove away unsure of what I was more stunned about – the fact that he knew my name and where I lived, or the fact that I was so horribly attracted to someone so wrong for me.

*

“He fixed your car?” Cece’s voice was shrill on the other end of the line. “Edwin Levine was actually nice to you?”

“Uh huh. Kinda blows your image of him, doesn’t it?” I ate another carrot and readjusted the phone on my shoulder, snuggling deeper into the corner of the sofa. I’d known Cece would be impressed. Approaching bad boys – that was the kind of thing she always talked about, but never dared to do. She didn’t need to know what an ass I’d made of myself running my mouth.

“So you were alone with him? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. He jumped it and left.”

“Well he must have talked to you. What did he say?”

I thought back on our brief conversation. Giving Cece details was like baiting a piranha – you had to be ready to defend yourself. And I wasn’t. “Nothing really.”

There was a pause on the line. “Were you worried being alone with him?”

Only that he’d see inside me and know I was a shallow yearbook tagging bitch. “No. He was nice. Like I said.”

“Oh.” Cece seemed disappointed that he hadn’t tried to sexually assault me. I think she enjoyed thinking the worst in people. Got some thrill out of her status as a police lieutenant’s daughter. And why wouldn’t she? If my dad pushed a pistol instead of a pencil, I’d be proud, too. “Well, what are you doing this afternoon?”

“I’m staying home, I guess. My car won’t start-“

“I thought you said he fixed it?”

“He did, just enough to get me home. He offered to put in a new battery, but I need my dad to buy one for me. He’ll probably just take it to the dealer.”

“You said he didn’t say anything else. You had an actual conversation with him. Jenni, you’re hopeless.”

“Jen,” I reminded her. No one called me Jenni anymore except Cece and my dad. I’d been trying to convince them both for over a year that I’d outgrown that nickname – didn’t want to be anything with an “i” anymore. That was so prissy. But they both said it was a habit. I personally didn’t think they wanted to break it, but that was probably just me.

“Do you want to go to Popham? Hunter and the guys are going and they wanted me to ask you.”

“Kinda crappy weather for the beach,” I said, looking out the window, considering the clouds. But summer weather is changeable in Maine, and even a crappy morning can turn into a beautiful afternoon.

“Just wear your jeans over your suit. If it’s not warm enough to swim, we can walk out to the Fox Island when the tide goes out.”

I hadn’t even said yes, and she was already assuming I’d go. Typical. I sighed, trying to remember if I’d gotten my suit out of storage yet. “Okay, but you have to drive.”

“Hunter is picking us up.” She paused. “He just got here. Hurry up and get dressed. We’ll be right over!”

I hung up the phone, unsure of when exactly I’d made the decision to become Cece’s bitch. Probably some time in Kindergarten. Even back then, I let Cece be the brains of the operation. I did pretty much whatever she wanted me to, including playing Barbies when I would have rather rode bikes. Most of the time, Cece’s plans were pretty harmless though. Like today. There was nothing wrong with hanging out with the guys. If you didn’t count the fact that watching Cece hang all over Hunter was painful. The guy barely recognized her as a female. It was obvious he considered her more of a sister-type or one of the guys, but he tossed her a crumb often enough in the form of a too close hug or a lewd comment that she would probably never give it up. You couldn’t hate either of them for it, but it was frigging annoying.
I dug through my drawers and closet and came up with a bikini that I’d bought on a dare. From Cece, of course. My tankini was nowhere to be seen, and I vaguely remembered a seam unraveling in it late last August. I’d probably trashed it. I sighed, inspecting the pathetic excuse for a suit. It would cover all the important parts, and I knew I had the figure to pull it off, but I’d never been a big fan of baring it all. The memory of Edwin checking out my legs was fresh enough in my mind that I was still blushing. Maybe I’d luck out and the sun would stay in, so I could wear my jeans and top all day. I could live with that.

I was writing Mom and Dad a note when I heard a car drive in the yard. I quickly slid on my flipflops and scuffed out the door, locking up. Hunter leaned out the window of his Jeep SUV, sunglasses on his head, tanned arms bared by his tank top, and greeted me in the usual manner. “Hey Road-Rash.”

I’d earned that nickname falling off a skateboard my freshman year – yeah, you guessed it – another dare. I’d skun everything from my forehead to my knees. Who knew skateboards moved that fast? “Hey asswipe,” I said with a grin, aiming a fist at his well-shaped bicep.

I got in the back, joining Sam and Carter, his best friends, my male counterparts. They made a big show of making room between them, and offered me a Snapple from the cooler in the back.

“Since when do you guys stock my favorite beverage?” I twisted the cap. “Watch it, or I’m going to start feeling special.”

“Oh you’re special alright,” Carter said, stretching out his long legs. “Short bus special.”

“You comfy back there?” Cece grinned back at me from the passenger’s seat. “Got enough leg room?”

I rolled my eyes, meeting Carter’s mildly annoyed glance. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I lied. Cece, barely five-two, always had to ride shotgun, while the three of us tall people had to crowd into the back without bitching.

I relaxed in as well as I could between the guys and closed my eyes, leaning slightly toward Carter. Sam smelled like sweat already, and anyone who knew him well also knew that he wasn’t going to put any deodorant on any time soon. It was going to be a long day. Not entirely unpleasant. But long, just the same.

*

The sun came out as we drove the hour it took to get to Phippsburg, and the heat climbed from the fifties into the eighties by one o’clock. As a result, it was perfect beach weather, and there wasn’t much of a crowd to compete with for the stretch of sand we liked best.

I rolled up my sleeves and pantlegs, determined to stay covered as long as I could, while Cece stripped down, revealing a strapless white bikini top she had no business wearing. No amount of padding could make her fill that thing out, and I wished for the hundredth time since eighth grade that I could cut some of mine off to give to her. She would appreciate them much more than me.

“Aren’t you hot?” Carter asked me, taking off his shirt and pants, and tossing them on the blanket.

“I’m fine.” I slathered some sunscreen on. SPF 45. Because skin cancer scares the crap out of me.

“Of course she’s hot. She’s smoking!” Hunter said, hurling him the Nerf football that was a staple of our gatherings. God, I was so sick of football.

Carter dashed off toward the water’s edge, scattering seagulls in his wake, and crushing some sand castle remains. I smiled, liking the familiarity of his boyish carelessness. Carter was the closest thing I had to an ex-boyfriend. We had kissed exactly three times over the past three years and never said a word about it to each other. It’s a wing-guy thing, happening each time at that moment during a party when everyone else seems to be hooking up and making out. When Carter and I are left standing there looking like losers. So he turns to me and kisses me because why not?
And because it’s late, and there’s no one else to kiss, I let him. And the kiss feels warm and nice, because it’s Carter, and he’s pretty cute and I’ve known him for years, but after the party is over, it’s definitely done and we definitely don’t bring it up, because frankly, there’s no chemistry between us.

“Here, Cece,” I said offering her the lotion.

She refused it, pulling out a bottle of coconut scented tanning oil instead. “You can be a ghost if you want to, but some of us want a tan.”

“You’ll still get a tan,” I said softly, trying not to be offended as I capped the tube and dropping it back in my bag. The football landed between us, closer to her, but she laid down, pretending oblivion. “Aren’t you going to play?”

She muttered something about coming here to get noticed, not to act like a guy, and she’d leave that to me, and then closed her eyes against the sun.

Stung, I picked up the ball and stared at her a second longer. Sam clapped his hands together in invitation, and I tossed it back to him, irritation building higher with my inability to express myself.

“Want to walk out to Fox Island in a bit?” I asked.

She ignored me, and I hugged my knees, stewing. Cece knew there wasn’t enough SPF in the world to make me want to sunbathe. I’d rather chew nails and spit rust. She’d been kind of leading up to this for a long time, indicating it wasn’t my job to think up the ideas, it was mine to follow. But what made me madder than anything was how I let her run the show. She wasn’t twisting my arm. I gave her that power over me. I had no one to blame but myself.

Well, no more. I was going to put a stop to this bullcrap once and for all. The world wouldn’t cave if I went by myself to explore Fox Island and left her on the blanket baking in the sun. I stood, dusted off my butt, and headed toward the sandbar.

When the guys caught up with me a few minutes later, humoring me and letting me lead the mission, I was surprised, and the thought of Cece miffed over the fact that no one was watching her glistening, golden, little body was more than a little satisfying. Her own fault she was missing all the fun, I secretly mused as Hunter shoved Sam off the edge of the sandbar into the shallows alongside us.

Sam rolled face up in the water hacking, lungs full of icy water. “You jackass!” He choked, and launched himself at Hunter, knocking me over in the process so that we landed in a heap on the sand. I took the hand that Carter offered, letting him haul me out of harm’s way because we both knew that Sam and Hunter’s flying elbows could really frigging hurt. As we waited for the wrestling match to end we talked about which colleges Carter was looking at. He had his eyes set on Stanford, and I could see he was planning his college essays as we spoke.

We climbed the rocks for the next hour, checking tide pools for crabs and snails and inspecting the occasional piece of sea glass for any that might be worth keeping. Somewhere along the way, someone started a seaweed fight that ended up with Sam pretending to be a beached sea monster, and I laughed so hard I forgot I hadn’t even wanted to come out today. At least until Sam tripped and sliced his foot open on a jagged rock, ruining all the fun. That was what Sam did best – screwed things up.

“I think Cece has some Band-Aids in the car!” I called, as he and Carter hobbled off toward the shore leaving a trail of tiny droplets of blood in the sand.

“Keys are in my bag!” Hunter added, slinging his arm around me. “That guys such a klutz. I hate to say it, but he’s not getting a scholarship.”

“He doesn’t really need one, does he,” I asked, wishing my heart didn’t kick into high gear every time he touched me.

“Nah. His parent’s will take care of it. I’m sure. What about you? You letting yourself think about it yet?”

He was covered in sand, the grit scratching my shoulder as he squeezed me too close. I brushed a hair that was sticking to my lips away. God damn. If he would stop looking at me like that. I made my eyes follow the guys.

“We should probably go back, too,” I said.

“Come on. I want to talk to you. And he’s not bleeding to death,” Hunter chuckled, rocking me back and forth in a playful way that I wished I could enjoy again like when we were younger. It felt different since we started high school. My mind played a constant litany of reasons why we shouldn’t touch, cuddle, play anymore. We weren’t little kids like we used to be, and things were… complicated. I’d known for a while that Hunter liked me. Truth was, I liked him, too. Enough to be curious. To wonder what it would be like to hold his hand or feel his lips on mine. It’s not that the fantasy wasn’t worthwhile. It wasn’t even that I worried reality wouldn’t measure up. Hunter was intense, straightforward, the kind of guy who chose his involvements with purpose. Anything he set his mind to doing, he did well. Football, debate, holding his beer. I had no doubt this same drive and determination would transfer to dating. The idea definitely had appeal. Moreover, Hunter was my dad’s greatest fantasy for a boyfriend for me: kind, courteous and well-to-do. And maybe that was part of the reason I couldn’t go there. I didn’t want to do anything my dad wanted me to do as a matter of premise. But the main stumbling block to going ahead and dating Hunter was Cece. She’d staked her claim on him a long time ago, and poaching would be wrong.

“Something wrong?” Hunter’s voice was smooth, a pleasing baritone, and I was sure he noticed the goosebumps that rose on my skin when his breath caressed my ear.

“I’m fine,” I said, smiling his way, liking the way his soft greenish eyes always caught the sun, like the sea glass in my pocket. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just did a one-eighty when they left. Are you mad at me or something?”

“No. Not at all.” I frowned, glancing at his tanned fingers against my pale skin. Wishing just once we could escape everyone else and explore the possibilities. But that was never going to happen. “I just think we should go back.”

We both knew it was a brush off. And one I meant with only half my heart. But after a pause, he squeezed me, less romantic this time, more like the childhood friend he’d always been.

“Okay,” he said at last, and getting up, he offered me his hand.
I let him pull me to my feet, but then took a wide step to the right out of arms reach. If he was disappointed at the distance between us, he didn’t let it show. Thank god.

We walked the sandbar in silence and without touching. Weaving together between couples, moms and dads with kids, and seagulls feasting on crabs. I could see Cece lift her head up when Carter and Sam arrived at the edge of her blanket. She dug through Hunter’s bag and tossed them the keys. And then she turned to watch Hunter and I, resentful curiosity evident in her posture as we made our way over to join her.