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“You’re talking.”

“Final words.”

“You already said final words.”

Trevor closed his eye again. “I had more to say.”

Grandma Ruth watched from her chair, popping piece after piece of caramel corn into her mouth. “That boy needs more supervision.”

Laughing, I checked my phone. Nothing from Sloane. She was ten minutes late.

First ten minutes.

Then fifteen.

She’d probably run into traffic. She lived about thirty minutes away. A slow driver, road construction, or a stop for fuel could change the timing.

At twenty minutes, I began adjusting the projector despite Byron having already confirmed it was ready to go. I changed the focus. Tested the speakers. Repositioned the table by two inches. Checked the cable connections. Anything that kept me from looking at the driveway every thirty seconds.

Patty noticed. She stood beside me, eating popcorn from a paper cup. “She’s coming.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’ve checked your phone eight times.”

“I’m coordinating the event.”

“Through a private chat with Sloane?” she asked.

I put my phone away.

Patty smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this. You’re nervous, aren’t you?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“You reorganized three hay bales after I watched Caldwell line them up.”

“They needed adjustment.”

“No, they didn’t.”

I looked across the property. Children ran between adults. Someone started music near the pavilion. Mom stood with two cousins discussing the wildlife corridor issue. Julie had recruited Mason’s girlfriend to arrange snack baskets.

My entire family had assembled around me, and all I could think about was one missing person.

The sound of tires on gravel pulled my attention toward the road. A gray Civic came around the final curve, and every part of me settled before I even saw her face.

The car stopped under the trees, and Sloane stepped out, dressed in jeans, sneakers, and the black shirt Patty had made for her. Her hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, and she carried a folded blanket beneath one arm.

Then the breeze changed. Pine reached me first. Beneath it sat a clean, sterile scent I couldn’t place. I had spent the past week surrounded by tasks, messages, questions, and decisions. Even tonight, every person who approached had brought a need, an opinion, or a correction. But at the sight of Sloane beside her car, the noise inside me went quiet. For one evening, maybe only the length of a movie, it felt possible to stop being the person everyone required.

I could sit beside her. I could listen to her commentary. I could exist without solving anything.

She looked toward the hall and found me almost immediately, a smile lighting up her face.

I went to meet her.

“You made it,” I said when I got close enough.