Page 70 of Even After Sunset

I turn to her, dragging my fingers through my hair again.

“You don’t happen to have, like, a bottle of liquor stashed somewhere in the camper, do you?”

This time, she looks surprised. And then confused.

“No…” Her eyes narrow; suspicious now. “Why? Is that what this is about? The thing you have to tell me? Is it about—”

“No!” I drop my hand. “God, no. It’s not about alcohol. I just…” I shove my hands in my pockets and drop my eyes to the ground, watching the shadows of the flames dance across the grass. “Never mind. Sorry… I shouldn’t have asked you that.”

“Oh… Okay,” she says. “Anyway, I don’t have any alcohol or anything,so…”

“I know.” I look over at her, embarrassed. “I know,” I say again. “It’s fine… It doesn’t matter.”

She doesn’t say anything and God love the crickets for filling in the awkward silence that follows. I busy myself stoking the fire, throwing another log on and poking at it with a stick I found by the woods earlier.

“Why don’t we just hang out here for a bit?” Jackie finally suggests. “Just talk or whatever. And then you can tell me later whatever it is you wanted to say. When you’re ready.”

I rock back on my heels, still not meeting her eyes.

“Sure.”

“I have stuff to make s'mores,” she says. “Geez, we can’t have a campfire without s’mores!” She gets up. “I’ll go grab everything and bring it out.”

She heads inside without waiting for my reaction. And man, I love her in that moment for not pushing me when it’s obvious that what I have to tell her is something big. Because she must be dying to know. And still, she’s more worried about making me feel comfortable than about dragging the words out of me.

Also, I haven’t had s'mores since I was ten.

I wonder if she remembers how much I used to love them. I’m guessing she does. I follow her into the camper to grab a hoodie, because even by the fire, it’s chilly.

Inside, Jackie’s got all the supplies piled up on the table, and she’s rummaging under one of the kitchen benches.

“Can you take some of the s'mores stuff and I’ll grab a couple of blankets for us to sit on?” she asks over her shoulder. “It’ll be more comfortable than the picnic table.”

So I load up and lug everything outside, and Jax follows me a few seconds later. She’s carrying an arm-load of blankets, which she spreads out on the grass close to the fire. This girl thinks of everything. Seriously: if there’s a zombie apocalypse, I’m sticking with her. I’ll bet she’s got a bunch of Rubbermaid totes already packed and ready to grab at a second’s notice.

While she’s laying everything out, I head into the woods to scavenge for a couple of marshmallow roasting sticks. And five minutes later, I’ve got theperfect ones: long and almost arrow-straight. I may not have many talents, but I do have my uses.

Back on the sprawling picnic blankets, the mood is less tense, and I blow out the stress I’ve been holding in since my call with Richard. I spear the first marshmallow onto the end of my stick.

“Man,” I chuckle, “I hope I still remember how to do this.”

“I can roast your marshmallows for you, if you want,” Jax offers. And I arch an eyebrow at her.

“Was that a pickup line or…”

“Shut up!” She whacks my arm with the bag of marshmallows. “Geez…”

I grin. Until a few days ago, I thought the only people who used expressions like “geez”, and “gosh” were old geezers born in the 1950s. Apparently, I was wrong.

“Remember the bonfires at Lymans Beach?” Jackie asks, smashing a marshmallow onto her stick.

Of course I remember the bonfires. But like everything else from back then, I try to forget.

I don’t mind remembering right now, though. With Jackie. Hell knows what makes it different, but it is.

“Yeah. Dad’s bonfires were epic.”

Better than epic, actually. My dad was the master of kick-ass bonfires. They towered way over our heads; the tips of the flames almost seeming to touch the sky.

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